A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT 


'  ■  i 


A   BRIDE  FROM 
^  THE  DESERT 


BY 
GRANT  ALI^EN 

AUTHOR  OF  "tHB  WOMAN  WHO  DID" 


NEW  YORK 

R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 

113  FIFTH  AVANU9 


^^^l  26157G 


Copyright,  1896 
R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 


A  Bride  from  the  Desert 


CONTENTS. 


m 

Chapter 

Page 

I.  Off  Cape  Guardarui    .        .        .        .      i 

II.  Landing  at  Matafu 

.     20 

111.  Away  to  Aden  !   . 

> 

■     35 

IV.  A  Primitive  Expedition 

• 

•     47 

V.  Up  Country  to  Daro    . 

» 

.     66 

VI.  An  Africian  Revolution 

• 

•     74 

VII.  From  Sand  to  vSea 

• 

.     88 

VIII.  Boat  Ahoy,  there  ! 

100 

Dr.  Greatrex's  Engagement 

» 

.  113 

The  Backslider    •        .        .        , 

I                1 

151 

[vj 


A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

OFF    CAPE    GUARDAFUI. 


It  was  the  quarter-deck  of  the  steamer  Lord 
Mayo,  from  Bombay  to  Southampton,  and  they 
were  passing  Cape  Guardafui,  the  easternmost 
point  of  Africa,  near  the  entrance  to  the  Red 
Sea,  and  the  Straits  of  Bab-el-Mandeb.  Mona 
Wallace,  in  a  light  wrap,  was  sitting  there  with 
her  friend  and  chaperon,  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  wife  of 
the  Deputy  Collector  of  the  Moozuffernugger 
district.  I  apologize  for  the  name,  I  admit — 
Moozuffernugger  is  such  a  terrible  mouthful — 
but  the  people  of  India,  not  I,  are  responsible 
for  that  atrocity.  The  evening  was  fine  and 
soft,  but  still  tolerably  cool,  at  least  as  one 
counts  coolness  off  the  east  coast  of  Africa. 
The  men  were  strolling  up  and  down  the  quar- 

[7] 


8  A   BRIDK   FROM   THE   DESERT, 

ter-drck  after  dinner,  enjoying  their  cigarettes 
and  the  fresh  breeze  from  eastward.  The  ladies 
were  lounging  at  ease  in  long  wicker  chairs,  and 
watching  the  stars  come  out  one  by  one  in  the 
pale  sky  above  them. 

"  Beautiful  evening  !"  said  the  women,  look- 
ing up  at  the  countless  host  of  heaven. 

"  Beautiful  evening  !"  echoed  the  men,  strik- 
ing a  fresh  wax  vesta,  and  looking  down  at 
their  boots,  as  they  puffed  away  vigorously  at 
the  cigarettes  they  were  lighting. 

For  it's  the  way  of  women  to  look  up  on  their 
path  through  life  ;  while  it's  the  way  of  men  to 
look  down,  or,  at  the  very  best,  to  look  round 
about  them. 

"  To-morrow  morning."  Mona  Wallace  ob- 
served at  last,  wreathing  her  loose,  white  woolen 
shawl  lightly  about  her  hatless  head,  "  we  shall 
get  to  Aden." 

"  If  nothing  happens  to  us  meanwhile,"  the 
croaky  old  gentleman  in  the  pith  helmet  inter- 
posed, with  a  very  wise  nod.  "  Most  dangerous 
coast,  this — most  dangerous — most  dangerous. 
And  if  once  you  run  ashore — click,  click  ;  click, 
click.  Nothing  but  this  to  expect  from  those 
wretched  Somanlis."  And  the  croaky  old  gen- 
tleman drew  his  open  hand  across  his  throat 
with  a  gently  gurgling  noise,  intended  to  repre- 
sent with  dramatic  force  the  probable  action  of 


OFF   CAPE   GUARDAFUI.  9 

a  knife  in   the  hands   of  some  wild  Somanli 
tribesman.  .         . 

**  Don't  take  anv  notice  of  him,  dear  !"  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  murmured  to  Mona,  half  under  her 
breath.  "  He's  a  born  pessimist  in  his  way,  that 
funny  old  doctor.  He's  never  so  happy  as  when 
he's  predicting  the  very  worst  that  can  possibly 
happen  to  one,  which  is  a  very  good  plan,  after 
all,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it  ;  for  it  saves 
one  a  great  many  serious  disappointments.  .  .  . 
But  why  are  you  always  so  anxious  to  know 
when  we  get  to  Aden,  I  wonder  ?  Is  there  any- 
body there,  by  any  chance,  you're  particularly 
anxious  should  come  down  to  meet  you  ?" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy  spoke  archly,  for,  though  only 
thirty-five,  she  was  an  old  hand  at  the  arts  and  - 
crafts  of  India.  And  there  was  something  in 
the  ingenuous  eagerness  of  Mona  Wallace's  tone 
whenever  she  spoke  of  their  arrival  at  Aden  that 
made  her  friend  and  chaperon  suspect  at  least  a 
flirtation,  if  not  even  a  more  serious  and  full- 
fledged  love  affair. 

As  for  Mona,  being  just  nineteen,  she  was  still 
too  innocent,  poor  girl,  to  conceal  her  feelings. 
So  she  blushed  crimson  to  her  finger-tips  at  the 
point-blank  question — so  crimson,  indeed,  that 
Mrs.  D'Arcy  could  distinguish  the  change  of 
color  clearly  even  in  the  pale  grey  light  of  even- 
ing.    "  No ;   nobody  in  particular,"  she   stam- 


10  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

merea  out,  half  betraying  herself  as  she  spoke. 
"  At  least  .  .  .  that  is  to  say.  .  .  .  Well, 
Wilfrid  Moyle's  there,  don't  you  know.  You 
remember,  of  course,  about  Wilfrid  Moyle  ? 
I'm  sure  you  must  have  heard  Geraldine  speak 
of  him  often." 

Geraldine  was  Mona's  married  sister  at 
Moozuffernuggfer,  to  whom  she  had  been  paying 
a  long  visit  in  what  is  politely  known  in  India  as 
"the  cool  season."  The  younger  bachelors  on 
board,  indeed,  somewhat  rudely  described  their 
pretty  fellow-passenger  as  a  "  returned  empty," 
which  is  the  vulgar  and  reprehensible  Anglo- 
India  name  for  any  marriageable  girl  who  runs 
out  to  Calcutta  or  Bombay  on  a  visit,  and  then 
goes  back  unmarried  ;  for  so  conceited  is  that 
noble  specimen  of  our  race  and  culture,  the 
covenanted  civil  servant  in  up-country  stations, 
that  he  fancies  every  woman  who  comes  within 
fifty  miles  of  his  distinguished  presence  must  be 
devoured  with  the  insane  and  incomprehensible 
ambition  of  winning  him  for  her  husband.  It 
was  strange,  however,  that  anybody,  even  a 
Deputy  Collector — that  perfect  embodiment  of 
the  purest  cynicism — could  look  at  Mona 
Wallace's  frank  young  face,  and  yet  credit  her 
for  a  moment  with  such  a  fatuous  endeavor. 
Just  turned  nineteen,  and  as  fresh  as  an  English 
primrose,  Mona  possessed  that  crowing  charm 


OFF  CAPE  GUARD AFUI.  11 

of  utter  feminine  unconsciousness,  which  puts 
the  last  finishing  touch  of  perfection  on  a  pretty 
girl's  prettiness.  So  Mrs.  D'Arcy  thought,  as 
she  gazed  admiringly  at  her  blushing  charge, 
with  that  tell-tale  crimson  spot  starring  the  very 
centre  of  her  soft  round  cheek.  *'  Oho,"  she 
said  quietly,  in  a  low,  still  voice,  "  so  that's 
how  the  wind  blows,  is  it,  Mona  ?  But,  my 
dear,  if  I  understood  Geraldine  right,  this  Mr. 
Moyle  is  nothing  but  a  common  soldier." 

*'  He's  our  rector's  son  at  Whittingham,"  Mona 
answered,  bridling  up  with  very  pretty  indigna- 
tion. *'  And  he's  a  Rugby  boy,  and  an  Oxford 
man,  and  a  perfect  gentleman." 

*'  But  he  ran  away  from  home  and  enlisted, 
didn't  he  ?"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  persisted,  drawing 
her  on,  of  malice  prepense,  and  tapping  one 
pretty  little  foot  half  impatiently  on  the  quarter- 
deck. As  a  conscientious  chaperon,  the  Deputy 
Collector's  wife  desired  to  find  out  how  far 
things  had  gone  already  between  Mona  Wallace 
and  this  very  undesirable  and  ineligible  young 
man,  before  deciding  whether  or  not  she'd 
allow  her  to  see  him  at  Aden. 

Mona  spoke  up  bravely,  like  a  solider's 
daughter  and  sister  that  she  was,  in  defense  of 
her  friend.  "  His  father  and  he  had  differ- 
ences," she  said,  still  bridling,  "  about  his 
expenses  at  Oxford.     I  believe   Mr.  Moyle's   a 


12        A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

very  strict  man — clergymen  sometimes  are  with 
their  sons,  you  know — and  Wilfrid  was  high- 
spirited  and  full  of  energy,  and  couldn't  bear  to 
be  kept  down.  So  at  last,  when  he'd  taken  his 
degree,  he  didn't  like  to  be  ordained,  as  his 
father  wished,  because  he  felt  he  had  no  special 
call  for  the  Church  ;  and  there  I  think  he  was 
quite  right,  you  know,  though  his  uncle  Fred 
would  have  given  him  a  fat  family  living.  But 
Wilfrid  said  no  man  ought  to  go  into  the  Church 
just  for  the  sake  of  the  loaves  and  fishes  ;  he 
wouldn't  take  orders  as  a  mere  means  of  liveli- 
hood— nor  at  all — unless  he  was  really  convinced 
he  had  a  vocation  that  way,  instead  of  which,  as 
it  happened,  he'd  always  had  a  burning  desire 
for  entering  the  army.  And  as  he  was  too  old 
to  get  a  commission  in  the  regular  course,  why, 
he  did  what  he  could,  and  enlisted  as  a  private. 
And  now  he  means  to  work  his  way  up  till  he's 
promoted  from  the  ranks  ;  and  he  will  do  it,  too, 
of  that  I'm  certain,  for  he  has  plenty  of  pluck, 
and  perseverance,  and  energy. 

"  I  see,"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  said  blandly,  smiling  the 
wise  little  smile  of  the  comely  British  matron,  as 
Mona  ceased  abruptly,  quite  flushed  with  her 
enthusiasm.  "  And  now,  dear,  how  long  has  this 
been  going  on  between  you  and  Wilfrid  ?" 

Mona  looked  up  at  her  astonished. 

"  How  long  has  what  been   going   on  ?"  she 


OFF  CAPE  GUARDAFUI.  13 

asked,  in  a  little  tremor  of  surprise.  For  how 
on  earth  could  Mrs.  D'Arcy  have  discovered  her 
secret  ? 

"  Why,  this  nice  little  correspondence,"  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  answered,  nodding"  her  sapient,  small 
head  with  a  very  conscious  smile.  *'  This  pleas- 
ing interchange  of  opinions  and  ideas  with 
Wilfrid  on  the  suject  of  Wilfrid's  career,  and 
Wilfrid's  probable  prospects." 

"There's  been  no  correspondence,"  Mona 
answered  sincerely,  like  one  who  means  it. 
"  I've  never  written  a  line  to  him,  and  he's 
never  written  a  line  to  me.  He  told  us  all  this 
in  a  letter  to  Geraldine." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  echoed,  more 
amused  than  before,  "in  a  letter  to  Geraldine, 
was  it  ?  And  Geraldine  went  and  showed  the 
letter  to  you  !  That  was  very  unwise  of  her.  A 
romantic  girl  like  you,  with  her  head  stuffed  as 
full  as  it  can  hold  of  nonsense.  I  should  have  ex- 
pected a  little  more  common  sense  from  Geral- 
dine." She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  tapped 
her  tiny  foot  on  the  quarter-deck  once  more. 
Then  she  added,  still  more  archly,  "  And  was 
Wilfrid,  as  you  call  him,  often  in  the  habit  of 
writing  to  Geraldine  ?" 

"  Not  very,"  Mona  replied,  feeling  still  on  the 
defensive.  "That  is  to  say — not  oftener  than 
once  every  four  or  five  weeks  or  so." 


14        A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

"  And  you  speak  of  him  as  Wilfrid  ?"  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  mused  softly. 

*'  He's  a  very  old  friend,"  Mona  answered 
with  an  evasive  air.  "  We've  all  called  him  Wil- 
frid ever  since  we  were  children  at  Whittingham 
together." 

"Not  so  very  long  since,  either  !"  Mrs.  D'Arcy 
remarked,  smiling.  "  Well,  and  he  went  and  en- 
listed in  the  South  Gloucestershire  regiment,  did 
he  ?  And  he's  quartered  now  at  Aden.  And 
you'll  be  there  to-morrow.  How  oddly  things 
turn  out  to  be  sure.  What  a  curious  coinci- 
dence !" 

But  before  Mrs.  D'Arcy  had  time  to  moralize 
any  further  on  this  strange  disposition  of  mun- 
dane events,  one  of  the  bachelor  civilians,  his 
cigarette  now  finished,  strolled  up  casually  to 
their  sides,  and  bending  low  to  the  acknowl- 
edged belle  of  the  ship,  said  with  a  self-satisfied 
smirk,  "  Will  you  take  a  few  turns  up  and  down 
the  deck  before  you  go  below  for  the  night,  Miss 
Wallace  ?" 

Mona  rose  hastily  to  accept  his  offered  arm, 
well  pleased  at  the  diversion,  for  she  didn't  quite 
like  to  hear  Mrs.  D'Arcy  talk  so  lightly  as  that 
of  her  poor  friend  Wilfrid. 

Not  that  they  were  engaged^  of  course ;  oh, 
dear  no,  not  engaged.  But  still,  Mona  admit- 
ted, half-shamefacedly  to  herself,  she  was  really 


O^F   CAfE   GUARD AFUI.  15 

very  fond  indeed  of  Wilfrid.  She  would  never 
accept  any  other  man  till  Wilfrid  was  at  least 
in  a  position  to  ask  her.  And  he  would  be, 
some  day.  She  felt  sure  of  that.  Wilfrid  would 
rise  ;  he  would  conquer  all  difficulties.  He  was 
a  good  fellow  at  heart,  common  soldier  or  not, 
and  she  believed  he  loved  her.  Though  he'd 
never  said  so,  to  be  sure  ;  he'd  never  quite  said 
so ;  but  looks  mean  often  far  more  than  words, 
and  Mona  believed  Wilfrid  Moyle's  looks.  She 
was  certain  he  would  come  home  some  day  to 
claim  her. 

They  lingered  long  on  deck  that  evening, 
pacing  up  and  down,  the  bachelor  civilian  and 
Mona  Wallace,  for  it  was  a  tempting  night,  and 
nobody  was  in  any  hurry  to  go  below  from  that 
soft,  fresh  air  to  the  stuffy  confinement  of  a 
stateroom  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  It  can  be  pretty 
hot,  I  can  tell  you,  between  decks  when  it  tries, 
off  the  Straits  of  Bab-el-Mandeb.  As  they 
walked  up  and  down  they  caught  from  time  to 
time  vague  murmurs  of  a  conversation  going 
briskly  on  upon  the  bridge,  between  the  captain 
of  the  ship  and  the  second  officer.  It  was  a 
nautical  conversation,  of  no  general  interest.  It 
seemed  to  have  something  to  do  with  the  course 
the  Lord  Mayo  was  taking. 

"  What  land's  that  ahead  ?"  the  Captain  asked 
sharply,  looking  out  past  the  bows  into  the  dim, 


IC  A    BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

starlit  night — for  there  was  no  moon  as  yet. 
"Oughtn't  to  be  any  land  so  high,  surely,  any- 
where hereabouts,  Talbot." 

"  No,  sir,"  the  second  officer  answered,  staring 
ahead  in  his  turn,  and  shading  his  eyes  carefully 
from  the  glare  of  the  starboard  light.  "  I  can't 
make  it  out  at  all.  Looks  precious  unfamiliar. 
The  coast  seems  to  have  gone  wrong  on  our 
port  bow  somehow.  Isn't  that  an  island,  too,  on 
our  weather  side  ?  No  island  over  there.  No 
right  to  be  an  island.  But  perhaps  it's  only 
clouds.  We  shall  make  it  all  out  better  when 
the  moon  rises." 

The  captain  tramped  up  and  down  the  bridge 
in  evident  doubt.  "  Very  queer,"  he  said  slowly, 
taking  a  glance  at  his  compass  as  he  passed,  with 
a  puzzled  and  screwed-up  face.  "  Left  the  Guard- 
afui  light  behind  more  than  a  knot  and  a  half. 
We're  making  about  fourteen  knots  an  hour  now. 
Shouldn't  be  any  land  in  front  at  all.  Never 
heard  of  anything  so  odd  in  my  born  days. 
Nothing  wrong  with  the  compass.  We're  steer- 
ing the  straight  course  right  enough  for  Aden." 

"  Must  be  clouds,  sir,"  the  second  officer  sug- 
gested, scrutinizing  the  binnacle  in  turn,  and 
scanning  the  horizon  hard.  Then  he  shouted 
aloud  to  the  look-out  man  in  the  forecastle,  "  Do 
you  make  that  out  dust-storm  or  only  fog-bank 
to  starboard,  Jenkins  ?" 


OFF   CAPE   GUARDAFtri.  17 

*'  Neither,  sir,'*  the  man  answered,  suddenly, 
with  a  somewhat  tremulous  voice,  "  Breakers 
on  the  port  bow — high  land  on  starboard.  .  .  . 
Hold'hard !  .  .  .  What's  this  ?  .  .  .  We're 
out  of  our  course,  sir  !  Look  out  !  Breakers 
ahead  !    Breakers  ahead  on  all  sides  of  us  !" 

The  captain  gave  a  start.  His  face  turned 
white  as  a  sheet.  *'  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Tal- 
bot," he  cried,  seizing  the  officer's  arm  and  grip- 
ping it  hard,  "  that  wasn't  the  Guardafui  light 
we  passed  a  while  ago  at  all.  We've  been 
shamefully  taken  in.  These  Somanlis  have 
been  tricking  us.  It  must  have  been  a  false 
light  on  a  point  a  good  bit  south  by  west  of 
Guardafui.  Those  are  mountains  in  front. 
We're  in  for  a  pretty  mess."  His  hand  touched 
the  electric  bell  with  a  quick  signal  to  the  en- 
gine-room. He  rang  twice  ;  then  three  times. 
♦'Easy  !     Stop  her  !     Back  her  !" 

It  wasn't  a  moment  too  soon.  Even  Mona 
Wallace,  pausing  all  unconcerned  on  the  civil- 
ian's arm,  saw  a  white  line  of  breakers  just 
abreast  of  their  bow,  lighted  up  by  a  dim  beam 
from  the  green  and  red  lamps  of  the  steamer's 
signals.  In  another  second,  with  marvellous 
speed,  the  engines  had  slowed — stopped  dead 
short — reversed.  Mrs.  D'Arcy  ran  up  with  a 
face  like  a  ghost's.  "  Where  are  we  ?"  she  cried, 
terrified.     •'  Oh,  Mona — Mr.  Walters — what  does 


18  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

all  this  mean  ? — what's  happening  ? — what's  hap- 
pened ?" 

The  civilian  tried  to  assume  a  very  calm  air 
of  superior  masculine  wisdom.  *'  We've  got  out 
of  our  course  somehow,"  he  answered,  with  an 
easy  wave  of  the  hand.  "  There  were  breakers 
ahead.  But  we're  reversing  now.  In  another 
half- minute  we  shall  be  well  in  the  open 
again." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when 
—  crash  —  b'r'r  —  unspeakable — a  shock  jarred 
and  vibrated  with  a  roll  like  thunder  through 
the  Lord  Mayo's  hull.  It  was  resonant,  deafen- 
ing. Mona  clung  wildly  to  the  civilian's  arm. 
Mrs.  D'Arcy  clung  wildly  to  Mona's  woollen 
shawl.  There  was  a  moment's  pause  ;  then  a 
cry  of  sharp  alarm  went  up  as  if  by  concert 
from  a  dozen  lips  at  once  :  ''  We've  struck  on 
a  rock  !     She's  parting  amidships  !" 

In  a  second  all  was  hurry,  confusion,  turmoil, 
excitement.  Mona  felt  her  heart  come  up  into 
her  mouth  as,  time  after  time,  the  great  waves 
lifted  the  Lord  Mayo  aloft  on  their  curling  crests, 
and  then  pounded  her  down  again  remorselessly 
upon  the  huge  reef  that  produced  them.  On 
the  bridge  the  Captain  still  stood  erect  and  un- 
moved, commanding,  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  with 
the  calm  bravery  of  tried  and  trusted  seaman- 
ship.    "  Man  the  boats  !    Lower  them  !    Three 


OFF   CAPE   GUARDAFUI.  19 

more  in  number  two  !  Stop  there  !  No  one 
else  !  Now  go !  Steady,  boys,  steady  !"  His 
voice  was  as  free  from  any  quiver  of  fear,  as  if 
he  were  engaged  in  entering  a  friendly  port. 
But  on  the  shore  just  beyond,  gazing  blankly 
through  the  gloom,  Mona  dimly  descried  a  ter- 
rible sight  that  made  her  full  heart  first  quail 
and  then  stand  still  with  terror  within  her — a 
sight  a  thousand  times  worse  than  the  sea  or  the 
breakers. 

For  on  the  beach,  right  in  front,  she  could 
make  out  with  her  sharp  eyes  row  upon  row  of 
dusky  faces,  girt  round  with  white  hoods,  and 
draped  below  in  long,  Arab  robes,  just  visible  in 
grey  line  against  the  darker  background.  Here 
and  there  among  the  groups  flitted  still  duskier, 
and  almost  unclad  figures  ;  in  the  rear,  many 
bare  heads  of  negro  warriors  made  themselves 
vaguely  felt  more  by  motion  and  turmoil  than 
by  any  visible  color.  All  alike  were  gazing 
eagerly  in  front  of  them,  at  the  sinking  ship. 
Not  a  hand  was  stretched  to  save  ;  not  a  voice 
was  raised  to  cheer  them.  Low  murmurs  and 
hoarse  curses  rose  faintly,  at  times  above  the  roar 
and  crash  of  the  curling  waves.  But  that  was 
all.  With  a  shudder  of  horror  Mona  recognized 
what  it  all  meant.  They  had  fallen  into  the 
cruel  and  remorseless  hands  of  Arab  and  African 
wreckers. 


20  A  BHIDE  FROM  THE  DESEST. 


CHAPTER  II 

LANDING    AT    MATAFU. 

On  shore  meanwhile,  that  night,  there  were 
fierce  joy  and  hushed  suspense,  in  a  certain  So- 
manli  village  among  the  fanatic  band  of  Mah- 
dist  and  Wahabee  warriors.  A  strange  intoxi- 
cation of  religious  frenzy  had  broken  like  a  flood 
over  the  whole  east  coast  of  Africa.  For  those 
were  the  days  just  after  the  fall  of  Khartoum  ; 
and  dervishes  from  the  Mahdi's  camp — wild 
preachers  of  a  Holy  War — scattered  east  and 
west  north  and  south  to  spread  the  tidings  of  his 
victory,  had  stirred  up  the  savage  tribesmen 
with  their  fiery  words  to  an  extraordinary  pitch 
of  bigotry  and  enthusiasm.  Incredible  rumors 
spread  like  wildfire  through  the  bazaars.  The 
day  of  revenge  had  come.  The  infidels  were  to 
be  extirpated.  Allah  in  his  mercy  had  been 
pleased  to  begin  the  regeneration  of  Islam. 
The  Mahdi,  his  prophet,  had  slain  Gordon  Pasha, 
the  great  leader  of  the  Nazarenes — the  viper  of 
mankind — and  cut  off  five  hundred  thousand  of 
the  enemy's  army.     The  Feringhees,  the  Eng- 


LANDING    AT  MATAFU.  21 

lish,  the  despised  and  hated  Franks,  had  been 
delivered  into  his  hands  to  slay  and  spare  not. 
Elsewhere,  men  said  in  those  days,  the  Mussul- 
man faith  was  equally  active.  Another  great 
mutiny  had  broken  out  in  the  Land  of  Hind. 
The  Faithful  of  Agra  and  Delhi,  it  was  whis- 
pered abroad,  had  risen  in  their  might,  like  a 
strong  man  refreshed,  and  flung  the  generals  of 
the  unbelievers,  as  in  1857,  into  the  wells  and 
ditches.  No  tale  was  too  wild  or  too  fantastic 
for  these  naked  devotees  to  swallow  whole. 
They  were  drunk  with  Moslem  zeal  ;  they  were 
maddened  and  stung  by  unearthly  visions. 

On  this  particular  evening,  then,  when  the 
Lord  Mayo  hove  in  sight  upon  the  gray  horizon, 
at  first  a  mere  long,  black  line  of  trailing  smoke, 
then  a  great  hull  dimly  descried  amid  the  dark 
waves  to  eastward — Hadji  Daood  of  Nejd,  one 
of  the  fiercest  and  wildest  of  the  Mahdi's  emis- 
saries, was  haranguing  a  villageful  of  Somanli 
warriors  in  battle  a^ray,  under  a  spreading  bao- 
bab. 

*'  There  is  no  God  but  Allah,"  he  cried,  with 
his  black  locks  streaming  free  in  the  evening 
breeze,  and  his  tawny  breast  bare,  like  an  as- 
cetic that  he  was. 

"  No  God  but  Allah,  and  Mohammed  is  his 
prophet.  And  as  Mohammed  was  in  days  gone 
by,  so  is  now  in  the  ends  of  the  earth  his  sue- 


22  ▲   KUIKE   FROM   THE    DESERT. 

cesser,  the  Mahdi.  Who  would  earn  the  joys  of 
Paradise,  who  would  enter  into  his  rest,  who 
would  sup  with  the  houris  in  the  bowers  of  bliss 
— that  man  must  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  Mahdi 
to-day  in  the  great  and  terrible  fight  for  Islam. 
This  is  a  Jehad,  a  Holy  War,  a  war  of  extermin- 
ation. No  infidel  on  earth  must  be  left  alive. 
Slay,  slay,  and  spare  not.  Slay  man,  woman 
and  child.  Slay  every  Frank,  every  Nazarene 
on  whom  you  can  lay  your  hand.  This  is  Allah's 
command.  It  is  Allah  who  has  willed  it.  Now 
is  his  chosen  time.  Now  is  his  day  of  vengeance. 
Death,  death  to  the  Giaour — man,  woman  and 
child — and  let  the  Faithful  of  Islam  inherit  the 
kingdom  !" 

Even  as  he  shrieked  out  these  fiery  words, 
writhing  his  body,  and  foaming  fiercely  at  the 
mouth,  he  drew  his  gleaming  knife,  and  gashed 
his  own  bare  flesh  with  the  blade  till  the  blood 
flowed  from  the  wound  freely.  "  So  must  we 
shed  our  blood,"  he  cried,  clapping  his  hand  to 
the  gash,  and  holding  it  up  before  their  eyes  all 
red  and  dripping.  "  So  must  we  pour  forth  our 
blood,  if  we  would  be  true  to  Islam  and  inherit 
Paradise." 

At  the  word  one  of  his  followers  stretched  his 
hand  towards  the  horizon. 

'*  It  is  well !"  he  cried.     See,  see  !     A  ship  ! 


LANDING   AT  MATAFTT.  23 

They  are  coming.    Allah  sends  them  to  our 
shore  !    One  of  the  steamers  of  the  infidel !" 

The  dervish  turned  round  and  stared  hard  at 
it  with  eyes  starting  wildly  from  his  head. 

"  Good,  good,"  he  murmured,  half  to  himself. 
''He  speaks  true  indeed.  This  is  the  finger 
of  Allah.  ...  I  know  that  ship  well.  I 
know  who  sail  upon  her.  ...  She  comes 
from  the  land  of  India.  Those  are  fugitives 
from  Bombay,  from  Delhi,  from  Hyderabad. 
The  Moslems  of  Sind  and  the  Moslems  of  Hind 
have  rallied  to  the  Prophet  and  to  the  Mahdi 
his  messenger.  They  have  cut  every  throat  of 
the  Nazarenes  in  Calcutta.  A  miserable  rem- 
nant alone  has  escaped  from  the  massacre. 
They  sail  on  that  ship.  And  even  those  our 
Allah  has  sent  hither  for  us  to  plunder." 

At  the  sound  of  that  fierce  hint,  which  prom- 
ised them  not  only  Paradise,  but  present  and 
temporal  booty,  the  Somanlis  with  one  accord 
shouted, 

"  How,  how,  O  Dervish  ?" 

Hadji  Daood  of  Nejd  paused  for  one  oratorical 
moment  to  survey,  with  a  quiet  smile,  the  fierce 
mass  of  eager  eyes  and  mouths  and  upturned 
faces  before  him.  Then  he  continued,  with 
slow  emphasis, 

*'  A  light.    A  false  light.     A  revolving  light. 


I 


24:  A   BRIDE  FROM  THE   DESERT. 

Let  it  lead  them  astray.  Let  them  take  it  for 
Cape  Guardafui." 

At  the  suggestion,  a  wild  shout  of  joy  went 
careering  through  all  that  tumultuous  crowd. 

**  Hadji  Daood  speaks  well  I"  they  cried.  "  He 
speaks  well,  by  Allah.  Quick,  quick  !  A  false 
light  !  Raise  it  high  on  the  headland.  To  the 
glory  of  Allah  !     To  the  safety  of  Islam  !" 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  whole  surging  mob  had 
rushed  headlong  to  the  top  of  the  jutting  cliff,and 
reared  up  on  a  low  whitewashed  and  flat-roofed 
house  a  tall  frame  of  big  timbers,  tied  loosely 
together.  Then,  with  a  few  square  mirrors,  col- 
lected hastily  from  the  women's  quarters,  and  a 
great  ball  of  pitched  tow,  steeped  through  and 
through  in  petroleum,  they  manufactured  in  an 
incredibly  short  space  of  time  a  very  tolerable 
imitation  of  the  Guardafui  lighthouse.  Hadji 
Daood  was  the  proud  possessor  of  a  European 
watch — looted  some  weeks  before  from  the  dead 
body  of  an  English  officer  at  Khartoum.  By 
its  aid  the  savage  wreckers  shifted  the  mirrors 
at  intervals  of  three  minutes,  so  as  to  mimic  the 
revolving  light  on  the  one  recognized  headland 
of  the  ocean  highway.  It  was  an  ingenious 
enough  imitation  to  deceive  the  captain  of  the 
Lord  Mayo  himself  ;  all  the  more  so  as  lights  are 
few  and  far  between  indeed  on  that  desert  stretch 
of  wild  African  coastland, 


LANDING   AT    MATAFTI.  25 

As  the  vessel,  attracted  by  the  false  glare,  be- 
gan to  alter  her  course  and  steam  ahead  towards 
the  sunken  rocks,  the  savage  joy  of  the  Soman- 
lis  knew  no  bounds  or  limits.  Drunk  and  mad 
with  frenzy,  they  shouted  and  danced  in  their 
delight ;  they  hugged  and  embraced  one  another 
in  perfect  transports  of  exultation. 

The  doomed  steamer  moved  rapidly  along  the 
coast  to  northward.  The  Somanlis,  following 
hard  on  their  Arab  leaders,  bounded  barefoot 
over  the  dry  rocks  at  the  top  of  their  mad  speed 
and  pressed  after  her  frantically,  round  steep 
capes  and  short  headlands.  Just  as  she  struck 
the  reef,  in  front  of  their  own  village,  they 
reached  the  shore  beside  her :  panting  and 
breathless.  But  with  deep  sighs  of  savage  re- 
lief those  hot  and  eager  barbarians  stood  still  and 
watched  her.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  aloud  for 
awhile,  lest  the  infidels  should  hear  and  escape 
their  clutches  ;  but  between  their  clenched  teeth 
the  Somanlis  muttered  to  themselves,  in  the 
double  delight  of  the  wrecker  and  the  religious 
fanatic,  "  Allah  be  praised  !  The  infidels  are 
doomed.  This  night  they  shall  all  stand  at  the 
judgment-seat  of  Allah  !" 

One  by  one  the  boats  put  off  from  the  ship 
and  approached  the  shore  cautiously.  Not  a 
few  of  the  passengers,  in  the  hurry  and  con- 
fusion of  the  moment,  flung  themselves  in  their 


26  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

terror  from  the  deck  upon  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  water.  As  for  these,  the  great  waves 
caught  them  up  like  so  many  toys,  and  dashed 
them  resistlessly  on  the  reef  with  tremendous 
force,  pounding  all  semblance  of  life  out  of  them 
in  a  very  few  seconds.  But  the  others  in  the  first- 
manned  boat,  mounting  the  wave  as  it  swept 
in,  reached  the  beach  in  safety — before  they 
perceived  the  dark  line  of  grim  and  silent  So- 
manlis  ranged  in  a  row  to  receive  them.  In  an 
instant  a  dozen  black  hands  clutched  at  the 
gunwale  at  once  ;  with  a  loud  cry  of  triumph 
the  negroes  seized  her  and  hauled  her  ashore, 
and  raised  her  far  above  the  reach  of  the  in- 
coming breakers.  Then  several  of  them  sprang 
fiercely  upon  her  like  a  tiger  upon  its  prey, 
while  others,  thirsting  for  still  more  blood, 
rushed  headlong  into  the  water,  at  the  immi- 
nent risk  of  their  lives,  to  seize  the  second  boat 
as  she  came  in  the  self-same  way,  and  drag  her 
helplessly  forward  to  the  slaughter-house  of  the 
landing-place. 

In  the  second  boat  were  Mrs.  D'Arcy  and 
Mona  Wallace. 

As  they  rose  on  the  crest  of  the  wave,  the 
sailors  with  one  accord  hanging  hard  upon  their 
oars,  a  horrible  sight  met  their  eyes  through 
the  thick  gloom  of  evening.  Mona  was  the  first 
to    perceive    it,  and  to  interpret   its  meaning 


LANDING  AT    MATAFU.  27 

aright.  With  a  quick  shudder  of  horror  she 
clutched  with  her  hand  the  nearest  sailor's  arm. 
"  Look,  look  !"  she  cried,  spasmodically,  point- 
ing forward  with  one  finger.  *' We  can't  land 
here  !  Just  see  what  the  natives  are  doing ! 
See  their  guns  and  their  knives  !  They're  mas- 
sacring them  !    They're  killing  them  !" 

From  the  stern,  through  the  grey  dusk,  the 
officer  in  charge,  looking  ahead  as  she  spoke, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  savages  bearing  down 
with  wild  cries  upon  the  occupants  of  the  first 
boat  that  had  reached  the  shore,  and  hacking 
them  to  pieces  in  cold  blood  with  clubs  and  dag- 
gers and  cutlasses.  It  was  a  ghastly  scene. 
Blood  flowed  like  water.  As  he  looked,  the 
officer's  heart  stood  still  with  horror.  He  took 
it  all  in  at  a  glance — treachery,  murder,  indis- 
criminate massacre.  Three  or  four  dozen  half- 
naked,  black  barbarians,  with  uplifted  weapons 
and  white  teeth  grinning,  were  beating  out  the 
brains  or  cutting  the  throats  of  those  defenceless 
Europeans  in  a  mad  orgie  of  fanaticism,  lust  of 
blood  and  ferocity.  As  fast  as  they  killed  them 
they  flung  the  dead  bodies  out,  like  so  many  car- 
casses, on  the  sand  of  the  beach.  Even  in  that 
uncertain  light,  the  officer  could  make  out  there 
great  pools  of  clotted  gore  ;  above  the  roar  of 
the  breakers,  he  could  hear  the  loud  cries  and 
panic-stricken  groans  of  the  unhappy  victims. 


28         A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

"  Back  water  !"  he  cried  to  the  sailors,  waving 
his  hand  behind  him.  **  For  your  lives,  men, 
back  water  !  These  brutes  here  will  murder 
us  !" 

But  it  was  all  too  late.  They  stood  poised  on 
the  crest  of  the  wave  now,  and  no  human  force 
could  avail  to  save  them.  With  all  their  might 
and  main,  straining  hard  their  practised  muscles 
against  the  fierce  flow  of  the  in-rolling  water, 
the  sailors  tried  their  best  to  stem  the  deadly 
flood  and  hold  her  back  from  the  beach.  But 
the  breakers  were  too  much  for  them.  Steadily 
and  resistlessly  the  great  moving  mass  carried 
them  in  on  its  summit,  and  with  a  thundering 
thud  dug  their  bow  into  the  foreshore.  At  once 
a  dozen  black  hands  were  stretched  out,  as  if  by 
magic,  to  clutch  at  the  gunwale  ;  a  dozen  black 
arms  hauled  them  eagerly  up  to  the  same  blood- 
stained berth  on  the  high  bank  of  shingle.  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  shrieked  aloud.  Mona  hid  her  face  and 
trembled.  But  the  officer  in  charge,  like  a  true- 
born  Englishman,  thought  first  of  his  duty,  even 
in  that  supreme  hour  of  death  and  danger. 
Rising  up  in  his  place  as  the  boat  poised  herself 
for  one  second  on  the  crest  of  the  wave,  just 
before  the  negroes  caught  her,  he  shouted  at 
the  very  top  of  his  voice,  as  only  a  seaman  can 
shout,  to  the  handful  of  men  still  left  on  the 
deck  ; 


LANDING    AT   MATAFtT.  29 

*'  For  Heaven's  sake,  land  no  more  boats  ! 
The  Somanlis  are  killing  us.  Take  care  of 
your  own  lives.  Put  out  to  sea  for  Aden,  and 
send  troops  to  avenge  us  !" 

It  was  all  he  had  time  to  say.  Scarcely  were 
the  words  well  out  of  his  mouth  when  those 
blood-begrimed  black  hands  seized  the  gunwale 
by  the  bows  ;  and  the  occupants  of  the  boat  felt 
themselves  drawn  hastily  up  by  twenty  strong 
black  arms  to  the  high  ridge  of  shingle.  Then 
in  the  glare  of  the  torches  began  once  more  a 
ghastly  carnival  of  slaughter.  Mona  cowered 
close  to  Mrs.  D'Arcy  and  shut  her  eyes  tight 
with  terror,  bending  her  head  to  await  the  fatal 
blow  she  felt  sure  was  coming.  Mrs.  D'Arcy 
held  her  little  friend's  hand  clasped  in  hers,  and 
with  her  lips  closed  hard,  sat  bolt  upright  in  her 
place,  prepared  to  die  like  a  true-hearted  Eng- 
lish woman.  For  a  minute  or  two  they  sat  still 
there,  and  felt  as  if  the  bitterness  of  death  were 
surely  past.  Then  a  horrible  noise  fell  on 
Mona's  ear  ;  she  knew  perfectly  what  it  was  ; 
some  savage  had  cleft  their  officer's  skull  in  two, 
and  that  sound  was  the  swish  of  the  short  sword 
crashing  through  it.  Something  hot  and  thick 
spattered  on  her  cheek  at  the  selfsame  moment  ; 
that  was  the  officer's  blood  spurting  fresh  from 
the  wound,  and  sprinkled  all  around  him.  Mona 
cowered  and  shrank,  and  drew  her  breath  even 


30        A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

deeper  and  slower  than  before.  Would  her  turn 
come  next  ?  .  .  .  Would  her  turn  never 
come  ?  .  .  .  How  long"  did  the  savages  mean 
to  continue  this  unspeakable  torture  ? 

One  by  one,  the  Somanlis  fell  fiercely  on  the 
men  in  the  boat  and  killed  them.  They  mangled 
them  in  their  rage  ;  they  hacked  the  lifeless 
bodies  with  strange  curses  into  a  thousand 
pieces.  Only  the  women  now  remained,  and 
one  or  two  of  those  too  the  savages  hewed  down 
with  remorseless  weapons.  At  last  there  came 
a  lull,  they  paused  for  a  moment  and  spoke  hast- 
ily with  one  another.  Mona  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy 
could  not  hear  or  understand  the  words  they 
said,  but  even  in  the  vague  terror  of  that  awful 
hour  they  were  dimly  aware  from  the  varying 
tones  of  expostulation  and  rage  that  the  Soman, 
lis  were  discussing  or  quarreling  among  them- 
selves. One  loud  voice  in  particular  gave  com- 
mand above  the  rest.  It  was  a  guttural  Arab 
voice,  very  clear  and  imperative — it  belonged,  in 
point  of  fact,  to  Hadji  Daood  of  Nejd,  the 
Mahdi's  dervish. 

"  Kill  all  !  Kill  all  !"  it  said  in  strident  Ara- 
bic. "  This  is  a  Holy  War  !  Kill  every  man, 
woman,  or  child  of  the  infidels  ?" 

Mona  shuddered  as  she  heard.  Though  she 
understood  not  a  single  word  of  that  hateful 
tongue,  she  felt  sure  from  the   very  tone  and 


LANDING  AT  MATAFtT.  31 

manner  of  his  speech  that  the  person  in  com- 
mand was  exhorting  his  followers  to  go  on  and 
murder  them. 

But  still,  for  some  unknown  reason,  the  So- 
manlis  hesitated.  Their  first  wild  thirst  for 
blood  was  partially  satisfied  now  ;  their  very 
arms  were  tired  ;  and  their  cupidity  and  love  of 
plunder  were  beginning  to  assert  themselves. 
"  The  women  are  good  marketable,  personable 
bodies,"  one  naked  wretch  said,  eyeing  them 
askance,  as  they  crouched  there  in  speechless 
terror.  "  Very  sound  young  women  !  They'd 
fetch  a  good  price.  Why  waste  and  destroy 
such  good,  useful  cattle  ?" 

For  to  your  African  a  woman  is  as  much  a 
pifece  of  goods  as  a  cow  or  a  camel. 

But  Hadji  Daood  of  Nejd  was  not  a  man  to 
be  gainsaid  or  to  stick  at  trifles. 

"  Allah  has  willed  it,"  he  cried  aloud,  step- 
ping forward  himself,  and  lifting  his  own  curved 
sword  to  strike  the  deadly  blow.  "  This  is  a 
Holy  War.     Death,  death  to  the  infidels  !" 

He  swung  it  round  with  a  loud  swish,  ready 
to  bring  it  down  with  terrible  effect  on  Mona's 
defenceless  head.  But  even  before  he  could  do 
so,  half-a-dozen  black  Somanlis,  now  eager  for 
gain,  interposed  their  strong  arms  to  prevent 
such  culpable  waste  of  good  saleworthy  slave 
stuff.     '^  No,  no,"  one  naked  warrior  cried,  push- 


32  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

ing  back  the  Hadji  by  main  force  from  his  ex- 
pected prey.  "  She's  ours.  We  captured  her. 
You  shall  not  hurt  one  hair  of  our  women's 
heads.  Allah  has  drunk  enough  infidel  blood 
for  one  day  already.  These  are  booty,  booty  ! 
We  want  them  to  sell.  We'll  take  them  up 
country  to  the  Imam  of  Daro.  The  Imam  buys 
fair.  He'll  pay  us  a  good  price,  we  know,  for 
two  handsome  women  from  the  land  of  the 
infidels  !" 

For  a  minute  or  two  after  that  there  was 
tumult  on  the  shore — much  noise  of  dispute — 
much  loud  babble  of  voices.  What  exactly  it  all 
meant  Mona  had  no  idea ;  but  she  knew,  at 
least,  the  black  men  and  the  brown  were  disput- 
ing hotly  over  their  heads,  and  that  the  black, 
in  the  end,  seemed  to  get  the  best  of  it.  vSud- 
denly,  as  they  disputed  and  waxed  hot  in  their 
quarrel,  something  fresh  seemed  to  break  in 
upon  the  discussion  and  upset  their  plans.  The 
two  white  women,  all  spattered  with  blood  and 
trembling  with  emotion,  were  left  alone  for  sev- 
eral seconds  on  the  high  shingle  bank  by  a  gen- 
eral rush  backwards.  Apparently,  the  men  had 
bethought  themselves  of  the  wreck  once  more. 
The  v^oice  of  the  Hadji  was  again  raised  in  loud 
tones  above  the  dull  roar  of  the  breakers. 
"  Man  the  boat  !"  he  cried  aloud  in  very  sonor- 
ous Arabic.     "  These  other  infidels  are  escap- 


LANDING    AT   MATAFU.  33 

ing- ;  we  must  cut  off  their  retreat  !  If  once 
they  get  away  alive  and  safe  to  Aden,  they'll 
rouse  all  the  bad  powers  of  the  Franks  against 
us!" 

What  it  meant  Mona,  of  course,  didn't  at  all 
understand.  But  she  saw  that  at  his  word  of 
command  the  Somanlis,  rushing  forward,  began 
to  haul  down  the  first  of  the  Lord  Mayo's  boats 
that  had  come  ashore,  and  to  take  their  places 
on  the  thwarts,  and  fix  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks. 
There  was  a  second's  pause  :  then  the  Hadji, 
stepping  in,  took  his  place  at- the  tiller,  and  gave 
in  one  loud  word,  the  order,  "  Forward  !"  It 
sounded  almost  like  Italian,  she  thought,  avaiiti^ 
or  something  of  that  sort.  At  the  sound  a  dozen 
black  arms  pushed  the  boat  to  sea  stoutly  on  the 
favoring  undertow  of  a  refluent  wave.  Many  of 
the  negroes,  indeed,  ran  in  far  by  the  side,  push- 
ing hard  as  they  ran  ;  the  next  wave  caught 
them  up,  and  pitched  them  landward  again, 
shrieking.  ^Meanwhile  the  Somanlis  in  the  boat, 
plying  their  oars  by  the  shore  with  the  dexterous 
skill  of  practised  surfmen,  ran  her  out  fast  over 
the  flats,  taking  advantage  of  each  back  current 
to  carry  them  on  across  the  shallows.  There 
was  a  pause  of  suspense.  In  a  minute  they  were 
out  of  sight,  and  all  around  was  still  again. 

Then  Mona  knew  where   and  why  they  had 


34  A    BRIDE    FROM    THE    DESERT. 

gone.     They  had  started  in  hot  pursuit  of  the 
last  boat  from  the  Lord  Mayo. 

And  she  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy  sat  huddled  to- 
gether in  a  heap  upon  the  blood-stained  beach, 
alone  with  a  dozen  or  so  of  half-naked  black 
Africans,  beside  the  hacked  and  bleeding  and 
mutilated  corpses  of  their  murdered  fellow- 
countrymen.  It  was  a  ghastly  sight.  They  hid 
their  faces  in  their  hands,  and  refused  to  behold 
it. 


AWAY  TO  Aden!  35 


CHAPTER  III. 

AWAY     TO    Aden! 

The  third  and  lar^jest  boat  that  put  off  from 
the  wreck,  was  the  only  one  of  the  lot  that  car- 
ried firearms.  It  was  armed  to  the  teeth,  in 
fact.  The  captain,  last  of  the  officers,  as  usual, 
to  quit  the  deck  of  the  sinking  steamer,  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  slipping  his  revolver 
into  his  pocket  before  he  left  the  ship  ;  and  sev- 
eral of  the  sailors  had  provided  themselves  hast- 
ily in  the  hurry  of  the  moment  with  knives  or 
short  cutlasses.  In  the  first  alarm  of  the  ground- 
ing, indeed,  the  one  thought  of  the  authorities 
had  been  to  get  the  women  and  children  and  the 
elder  passengers  into  the  boats  with  safety  ;  the 
immediate  danger  from  the  sea  was  too  fierce 
and  too  pressing  to  allow  time  for  reflection  on 
the  remoter  danger  of  hostilities  from  those 
wild  and  savage  African  tribesmen.  But  as 
soon  as  the  passengers  had  all  been  safely 
housed,  and  the  boats  had  been  lowered  in  due 
course  from  the  davits,  the  captain  bethought 
him  on  a  sudden,  of  the  less  obvious  risk. 


86         A  BRTDE  FROM  THE  DESKUT. 

''Take  your  arms,  men,"  he  cried.  "Jones, 
get  out  the  revolvers.  These  brutes  may  attack 
us  and  prevent  us  from  landing.  We  must  be 
prepared  for  the  worst.  We  may  have  to  fight 
for  the  women  and  children." 

Before  they  left  the  deck,  however,  a  warning 
voice  from  the  crest  of  the  wave  had  reached 
them  where  they  stood — the  voice  of  the  first 
officer  standing  up  in  his  place  and  shouting 
above  the  roar  of  these  deafening  breakers,  as 
only  a  sailor  can  shout : 

"  Land  no  more  boats.  The  Somanlis'  are 
killing  us.  Take  care  of  your  own  lives.  Put 
out  to  sea  to  Aden,  and  send  troops  to  avenge 
us!" 

Thus  warned  the  captain  looked  ahead,  and 
peering  deep  through  the  gloom,  saw  aghast 
with  his  own  eyes,  the  horrible  tragedy  that  was 
being  enacted  then  and  there  on  the  high  beach 
before  him.  It  was  useless  to  interpose  ;  so 
much,  he  saw  at  a  glance.  Most,  if  not  all  of 
his  passengers  were  already  massacred  in  cold 
blood  by  those  infuriated  savages  ;  the  mere 
handful  of  men  he  had  left  with  him  on  the  ship, 
if  they  tried  to  land  at  all  in  the  face  of  such  an 
armed  mob  could  only  share  the  fate  of  their 
unhappy  countrymen.  The  disproportion  in 
numbers  was  simply  overwhelming.  There  re- 
mained but  one  chance  now,  as  the  first  officer 


AWAY  TO  Aden!  37 

said,  to  make  strai<jht  for  Aden,  and  rouse  to 
revenge  the  British  garrison.  They  would  be 
pursued,  of  course,  perhaps  overtaken  and 
slaughtered  ;  but  their  sole  hope  of  safety,  all 
the  same,  lay  there  ;  they  must  put  straight  out 
to  sea  and  grope  their  way  across  the  water  in 
an  open  boat  to  Aden. 

In  three  minutes  the  sailors  were  fully  armed 
for  a  fight  ;  the  boat  was  manned  and  lowered, 
and  impelled  by  sturdy  British  arms  over  the 
unruffled  sea,  was  making  off  at  full  speed,  from 
the  scene  of  that  deadly  massacre. 

Perhaps  if  they'd  known  that  Mona  and  Mrs. 
D'Arey  sat  crouching  there  still  on  the  blood- 
stained beach,  between  little  pools  of  gore  in 
abject  misery,  they  might  have  landed  in  spite 
of  everything  and  sold  their  lives  dear  in  de- 
fence of  their  countrywomen.  But  even  if  they 
had,  it  would  have  availed  them  little.  The 
savages,  fifty  to  one,  could  have  overpowered 
them  at  a  blow  by  mere  numerical  superiority. 
In  their  present  drunken  rage  of  fanaticism  and 
bloodthirstiness,  no  power  on  earth  would  have 
restrained  them  from  attacking  the  infidel ;  they 
would  have  blotted  out  the  Lord  Mayo's  crew 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  as  ruthlessly  as  a 
farmer  destroys  a  brood  of  rats  in  an  infested 
rick-yard. 

For  three  or  four  minutes  the  Englishmen 


38         A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

rowed  on  across  the  bay  nnperceived.  The 
quarrel  with  the  Hadji  over  Mona's  fate  and 
Mrs.  D'Arcy's  kept  the  Somanlis  for  the  time 
being  from  perceiving  their  departure.  At  the 
end  of  that  short  breathing  space,  however,  a 
loud  shout  from  shoreward  rent  the  sky.  They 
knew  well  what  it  meant.  It  was  the  Hadji  ex- 
horting his  pack  of  wolves  to  man  the  boat  and 
follow  them.  Two  minutes  later  a  dark  object 
glided  out  past  the  wreck  upon  the  gray  waters 
of  the  bay.  A  boat  had  been  launched  !  It  was 
hand  to  hand  now  !  The  Somanlis  were  after 
them  ! 

Then  began  a  fierce  and  exciting  chase  over 
the  still  evening  waters,  the  Englishmen  at  first 
flying  hard  as  if  for  their  'ives  across  the  silent 
sea ;  the  Africans  pressing  on,  mad  with  loot 
and  religion,  in  desperate  haste  to  overtake  and 
destroy  them.  For  several  minutes  at  the  start 
the  captain's  one  idea  was  to  get  away  off  and 
run  safe  to  Aden  ;  all  ideas  of  revenge  he  put 
aside  for  the  present  till  they  could  land  with  a 
regular  armed  force  at  the  offending  village, 
which  he  believed  to  be  a  place  of  the  name  of 
Matafu.  But  after  a  time,  as  they  rowed  on, 
silent  and  calm,  but  straining  every  nerve  of 
their  bodies  to  make  the  heavy  life-boat  travel 
fast  through  the  rippling  water,  a  change  began 
to  come  over  the  spirit  of  their  project.    It  be- 


AW  AT   TO    ADEN  I  39 

gan  to  strike  them  that  the  pursuit  was  inade- 
quate. The  captain  looked  back — rubbed  his 
eyes—leaned  forward.  "  Hullo  !  what  was  this  ? 
Only  one  boat  following  ?"  He  peered  once  more 
across  the  abyss  of  darkness  to  see  if  perchance 
yet  others  might  be  coming  up  slower  through 
the  gloom  from  behind.  But  no  ;  not  an  oar. 
Not  a  sign  or  a  sound  of  one.  Quick  as  light- 
ning his  tactics  changed  ;  his  mind  was  made 
up  for  open  war.  *'  Easy  all !"  he  cried  aloud, 
in  a  voice  of  sudden  resolve.  "  Don't  waste 
your  strength  rowing,  boys  !  Go  gently  ahead. 
Draw  them  on.  Let  them  follow  us.  There's 
only  one  boat,  I  see.  We're  more  than  a  match 
for  it.  It  may  catch  us  up  if  it  likes.  Once 
we're  well  away  from  land  and  out  of  reach  of 
their  neighbors,  we'll  fight  these  fellows  to  the 
death.     They  shall  pay  with  their  lives  for  it." 

*'  All  right,  sir,"  the  officer  in  front  made 
answer,  with  true  nautical  promptitude,  seizing 
the  cue  at  once.  "  We're  ready  when  they  come. 
We'll  give  'em  pepper.  Don't  fear  that.  They 
shall  have  a  warm  reception." 

In  obedience  to  the  order,  they  slowed  off  their 
pace  gradually,  and  let  the  Somanlis  in  the  other 
boat  approach  by  gentle  degrees  almost  within 
hailing  distance.  The  savages,  unaccustomed  to 
oUch  wily  tactics,  leaped  at  once  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Englishmen  were  tiring.     Hadji 


40  A   BRIDE   FEOM   THE   DESERT, 

Daood  himself,  mad  with  blood  and  excitement, 
stood  up  eagerly  in  the  stern  and  exhorted  his 
followers  with  fierce  gestures  to  still  greater 
exertions. 

"  Row,  row,  sons  of  the  faithful  !"  he  cried,  in 
his  ringing  tones.  "  The  infidels  are  failing. 
Their  arms  are  like  wax.  Allah  has  delivered 
them  as  a  prey  into  our  hands.  Fall  upon  them! 
Cut  their  throats  !  Let  not  a  man  of  the  hateful 
horde  escape  alive  to  Aden  !" 

He  pointed  forward  as  tie  spoke,  with  a  wild 
wave  of  triumph.  The  Somanlis,  so  adjured, 
rose  on  their  oars  once  more,  and  raising  a  loud 
cry  of  *'  Allah  is  great  !  Bismillah  !"  pressed 
eagerly  forward  across  the  intervening  distance. 
But  the  unaccustomed  English  rowlocks  and  the 
weight  of  the  heavy  boat  distressed  and  wearied 
them.  Though  powerful  men  of  their  sort,  big 
built  and  bony,  after  the  true  African  pat- 
tern, and  well  used  to  the  surf,  they  were 
but  clumsy  rowers  on  the  open,  for  lack 
of  skill  and  science.  The  English  tars, 
on  the  other  hand,  thoroughly  trained  to  their 
work  and  keeping  perfect  time,  like  a  piece  of 
cunning  clockwork,  could  have  distanced  them 
easily  if  they  wished,  in  a  long  row  for  life,  by 
many  minutes  in  the  hour.  But  to  say  the  truth 
they  didn't  care  to.  On  the  contrary,  making 
little  spurts  every  now  ^nd  again  as  a  feint,  and 


AWAY   TO   ADEN  !  41 

then  dawdling  in  turn  as  if  tired,  they  encour- 
aged the  savages  to  strain  every  nerve  and 
muscle  in  the  fierce  endeavor  to  overtake  and 
run  into  them.  Hadji  Daood  fell  into  the  easy 
trap  like  a  lamb.  He  followed  up  their  retreat 
as  readily  as  they  could  have  desired. 

"  Row,  row,  for  your  lives,  friends  !"  he  cried, 
time  after  time.  ''  We're  gaining  on  them  now  ! 
We're  gaining  every  stroke  on  them  !  Allah 
fights  for  Islam  !     Death,  death  to  the  infidel  !" 

All  on  fire  the  negroes  rowed  on  dripping  hot 
with  sweat  in  the  warm  tropical  night,  and  wore 
out  their  coarse  muscles  in  the  intensity  of  their 
efforts.  At  last,  as  they  drew  near  the  English- 
men still  cool  and  unfatigued  with  their  row,  the 
savages  ready  to  drop  with  the  unfamiliar  exer- 
tion— on  a  sudden  the  captain  gave  the  calm 
short  word,  "  Easy  all  !  Ship  your  oars  !  Now, 
steady  boys,  and  fire  at  'em  !" 

In  a  moment,  almost  before  the  Somanlis 
were  aware  what  was  happening,  the  white 
men's  boat  had  come  quickly  to  a  standstill  as  if 
by  magic,  and  a  deadly  fire  of  revolver  bullets 
raked  them  fore  and  aft  with  such  terrible  ef- 
fect as  they  had  never  before  dreamed  of.  The 
English  sailors  well  drilled  to  render  prompt 
obedience  to  a  word  of  command,  had  shipped 
their  oars  silently  in  a  great  deal  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  tell  it,  and  had  discharged  their  fir^- 


42  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

arms  point-blank  at  the  heads  of  the  enemy. 
Hardly  twenty  yards  now  separated  the  boats. 
The  Somanlis  taken  by  surprise  and  unexpect- 
ing  any  attack  were  still  leaning  on  their  blades 
and  pressing  eagerly  forward.  At  the  very  first 
volley  Hadji  Daood  himself,  tall  and  erect  in  the 
stern,  fell  prone  on  his  face  with  a  loud  groan  in 
the  bottom.  Blood  gushed  from  his  mouth  ;  he 
tried  to  speak,  but  his  words  were  lost  in  inartic- 
ulate gurglings.  Half  a  dozen  more  of  the  pur- 
suers were  disabled  or  dead. 

Overwhelmed  at  the  sudden  attack  the  Soman- 
lis were  panic  stricken.  The  captain  saw  his 
advantage  and  seized  the  decisive  moment. 
"  Fire  again,  boys  !"  he  said  quietly.  And  before 
ever  the  astonished  savages  could  recover  their 
presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to  seize  their  own 
rifles — for  they  had  no  revolvers — a  second 
deadly  shower  of  bullets  rained  in  upon  them 
full  in  front,  and  sent  five  or  six  more  of  them 
howling  to  the  boat's  bottom. 

"  Waste  no  more  of  your  ammunition  now, 
boys  !"  the  captain  continued  coolly.  *'  We  may 
need  it  at  close  quarters.  .  .  .  But,  in  with 
your  oars  again,  and  forward  all  straight  at  'em  !'» 

On  the  word,  a  dozen  blades  struck  the  water 
together  at  once,  and  the  lifeboat,  deftly  answer- 
ing to  the  tiller  in  the  captain's  own  hand,  swung 


AWAY   TO   ADEN  !  43 

round  like  a  flash,  and  charged  full  pelt  at  the 
amazed  and  demoralized  savages. 

As  for  the  Somanlis,  now  deprived  of  their  one 
cool  head,  the  Hadji,  and  left  to  their  own  unaided 
African  devices  they  gave  way  at  once  to  the 
panic  terror  of  the  vanquished  barbarian  mind 
before  a  civilized  encmv.  With  the  Arab  der- 
vish  to  lead  them,  indeed  they  had  been  capable 
of  a  certain  rough  sort  of  irregular  discipline  ; 
but  cast  upon  their  own  savage  resources,  they 
were  like  sheep  without  a  shepherd,  and  their 
loud  cries  of  fear  as  they  saw  the  Englishmen 
sweep  down  upon  them  in  perfect  order  were 
more  like  the  frantic  shrieks  of  little  children  in 
distress  than  any  common  sound  of  grown  men 
and  warriors.  In  the  awe  and  horror  of  the 
moment  not  a  few  of  them  leaped  overboard 
with  wild  prayers  for  mercy  to  escape  the  deadly 
fire  of  the  English  revolvers,  and  swam  away  for 
their  lives  in  an  impossible  attempt  to  make  the 
dim  coast  which  now  lay  invisible  in  the  dark, 
miles  and  miles  behind  them.  Of  the  others,  the 
greater  part  crouched  panic-stricken  in  a  hud- 
dled mass  on  the  floor  of  the  boat,  among  the 
dead  and  dying,  or  shammed  death  in  their 
craven  fear,  to  save  their  wretched  lives  for  one 
moment  longer.  Only  one  or  two  of  the  whole 
crowd  showed  fight  with  true  Moslem  fanati- 
cism ;  and  these  last  were  Wahabees,  who  leaped 


44  A    BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

SO  fiercely  upon  the  white  sailors,  scratching, 
biting,  and  screaming  like  wild  beasts  at  bay, 
though  unarmed  and  defenceless  in  their  relig- 
ious zeal,  that  the  Englishmen  cut  them  down 
with  hardly  a  show  of  resistance.  In  less  than 
ten  minutes  from  the  firing  of  the  first  shot,  the 
whole  episode  was  over.  Nothing  was  left  of  it 
all  but  a  boat  load  of  wounded  or  dying  negroes, 
and  a  few  scattered  black  heads  dimly  descried 
through  the  gloom,  bobbing  up  and  down  fran- 
tically on  the  calm  water  to  westward. 

"Clear  the  corpses  !"  the  captain  said  sternly, 
turning  them  over  with  an  oar  ;  and  four  or  five 
sailors,  leaping  across  into  the  other  boat,  began 
with  cautious  care  to  pick  out  the  living  and  the 
wounded  from  the  dead,  keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out meanwhile  for  the  chance  of  unexpected  and 
hostile  revivals — for  these  fanatics  will  kill  you 
even  as  you  try  to  save  them.  One  by  one,  they 
raised  the  great  bleeding  black  bodies  and 
felt  at  the  hearts  to  see  if  they  were  still  beating. 
At  each  shake  of  the  head  to  indicate  no  motion 
there,  the  captain  gave  the  solemn  and  quiet 
word,  "  Overboard  !"  There  was  a  splash  and  a 
gurgle,  a  low  noise  of  the  swallowing  sea— and 
the  body  of  a  dead  enemy  rolled  slowly  to  the 
bottom. 

In  the  end,  five  wounded  men  alone  remained 
oi  all  that  savage  crew.    The  sailors  disarmed 


AWAY  TO  Aden!  45 

them,  and  propped  them  up,  wounded  as  they 
were,  against  the  thwarts.  "  We  must  take 
them  along  with  us,"  the  captain  murmured,  in 
the  cold,  calm  voice  of  a  man  who  means  busi- 
ness, and  knows  his  duty  ;  "  if  possible,  we  must 
keep  these  prisoners  alive  till  we  get  into  port. 
This  isn't  the  end  of  our  day's  work.  They'll 
be  useful  to  show  a  gunboat  the  way  back, to 
their  village." 

"  Yes  ;  they'll  pay  for  this,"  the  officer  an- 
swered, pausing  to  bind  up  the  few  wounds  of 
their  own  men  received  in  the  last  hand  to  hand 
conflict ;  *'  they'll  pay  for  it  when  we  get  ashore 
again.  It's  all  very  well  for  to-day  ;  but  they 
don't  know  what  it  means  to  rouse  the  anger  of 
Englishmen." 

As  for  the  captain,  he  said  nothing.  His 
wrath  was  too  deep  and  too  still  for  words.  He 
waited  a  minute  or  two  in  solemn  silence  till  all 
was  in  good  trim  again.  They  tied  the  other 
boat  to  their  stern,  and  put  two  sailors  at  the 
bow  to  look  after  the  prisoners,  each  armed 
with  a  knife  and  a  loaded  revolver.  "  Shoot 
them  promptly  if  they  try  to  rise,"  the  captain 
said  at  last  in  a  very  dogged  voice.  "  Shoot 
them  down  like  dogs.  No  attempt  at  a  rescue. 
Now,  boys,  forward  all,  again  !  We  must  make 
for  Aden  !" 

It  was  a  long  and  desperate  row,  and  they  had 


4C  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

little  but  water  and  a  few  biscuits  on  board  to 
live  upon.  But  the  consciousness  of  an  import- 
ant duty  to  perform  kept  them  up  to  their  work 
through  that  weary  voyage.  It  wasn't  their  own 
lives  alone  that  were  at  stake  that  day.  It  was  ♦ 
the  dignity  of  England  and  the  lives  of  un- 
known and  unnumbered  Englishmen.  For  the 
honor  of  the  British  flag,  for  the  safety  of  all 
future  British  vessels,  they  felt  they  must  reach 
a  British  port,  and  read  these  treacherous  sav- 
ages a  terrible  lesson.  No  wreckers  in  future 
on  that  African  coast  could  afford  to  insult  and 
mislead  an  English  steamer. 


A   PRIMITIVE    EXPEDITION.  47 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    PRIMITIVE   EXPEDITION. 

To  Mona  Wallace  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  huddled 
up  in  a  noisome  native  hut  at  Matafu,  it 
seemed  indeed  for  the  time  as  though  Eng- 
land and  Englishmen  had  ceased  to  exist — as 
though  Britain  were  blotted  out,  and  only  black 
savages  or  Arab  dervishes  were  left  anywhere 
in  existence.  They  had  hardly  even  a  hope  or 
expectation  of  release.  All  looked  black  before 
them.  So  far  as  they  knew,  every  living  soul 
save  themselves  on  the  ill-fated  Lord  Mayo  had 
been  massacred  in  cold  blood  by  the  ruthless 
Somanlis  ;  no  messenger  had  escaped  to  telhthe 
tale  of  the  disaster  ;  and  with  the  ghastly  picture 
of  that  awful  scene  still  burned  as  with  a  brand 
into  their  reeling  brains — with  the  shrieks  of  the 
murdered  still  ringing  in  their  outraged  ears- 
even  the  question  what  was  to  become  of  them- 
selves in  their  future  slavery  seemed  relatively 
unimportant.  In  some  vague  way  they  gathered 
that  they  were  reserved  for  the  harem  of  some 
very  powerful  king  or  chief  up  country  ;  more 
than  that  they  know  not  ;  and  in  that,  awful  as 


48        A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

it  was,  they  acquiesced  with  the  calmness  of 
utter  despair.  They  were  helpless  and  hope- 
less. They  had  no  power  to  defend  themselves. 
They  sat  down  and  let  things  go  as  the  Soman- 
lis  might  take  them. 

There  wasn't  even  a  fair  chance  of  release  by 
suicide.  Some  fates  are  worse  than  death, 
theirs  seemed  to  be  one  of  them.  And  yet — so 
irrational  are  women — Mona  Wallace  at  least  had 
a  single  wild  hope  of  her  own.  I  wouldn't  give 
you  twopence,  indeed,  for  the  girl  who,  in  spite 
of  all  reason,  doesn't  believe  to  the  end — madly, 
wildly,  foolishly — that  her  lover,  if  she  has  one, 
will  somehow  rush  in  to  rescue  and  save  her. 
And  Mona  Wallace  did  believe  it.  She  knew  it 
was  impossible,  she  knew  it  was  silly  ;  but  still 
in  some  vague  way,  she  felt  certain  Wilfrid 
would  hear  of  it,  and  Wilfrid  would  turn  up  be- 
fore long  to  deliver  them.  How,  when,  or 
where,  she  hadn't  the  faintest  idea.  It  was  pure 
irrational  feminine  faith.  The  days  of  chivalry, 
we  all  know  on  good  authority,  are  past. 
Knight-errants  are  no  more.  Doughty  deeds  are 
at  a  discount.  Yet  she  felt  sure  for  all  that  in 
her  own  heart  of  hearts,  Wilfrid  Moyle  would 
come  in  the  end  and  free  them  from  this  slavery. 
Once  even  in  the  still  night  she  ventured  to  say 
so  to  Mrs.  D'Arcy.  **  I'd  give  up  all  hope,"  she 
cried  passionately,  "  if  it  weren't  for  Wilfrid." 


A    PRIMITIVE    EXPEDITION.  49 

Mrs.  D'Arcy  hadn't  the  heart  to  crush  her 
girlish  dream,  but  she  smiled  to  herself  bitterly, 
for  she,  too,  in  her  time  had  been  there. 

At  Aden,  meanwhile,  strange  things  were 
happening.  The  normal  sleepy  calm  of  that 
hottest  and  drowsiest  of  Oriental  military  stations 
— a  mere  British  outpost  and  coaling  place  on 
the  Arabian  coast — had  been  rudely  interrupted 
by  a  most  unexpected  occurrence.  As  a  rule, 
things  go  tolerably  slow  at  Aden.  But  one 
morning  early,  while  the  garrison  was  on  parade, 
the  lookout  man  on  the  hill  signalled  suddenly  a 
startling  message  from  the  lightship.  '*  Boat  of 
castaways  in  the  offing  shows  sign  of  distress. 
Send  out  tender  to  meet  her." 

In  breathless  haste  the  tender  was  dispatched 
from  the  strange  submarine  crater  which  forms 
that  marvelous  harbor  ;  and  in  less  than  half  an 
hour,  all  Aden  was  agog  with  the  surprising 
news  that  an  English  steamer  had  been  wrecked 
and  plundered  on  the  Somanli  coast  by  a  body 
of  lawless  Mahdist  dervishes.  The  passengers 
and  several  officers  had  been  murdered  in  cold 
blood  ;  only  the  captain  and  a  few  sailors  had 
got  away  safe  with  their  lives,  and  after  a  fight 
at  sea,  and  many  days  tossing  on  the  Arabian 
Gulf,  half  starved  and  tortured  with  thirst,  had 
at  last  reached  Aden,  more  dead  than  alive,  with 
news  of  the  disaster. 


50  A    BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

In  a  moment  there  was  taking  down  of  arms 
and  preparation  for  active  service.  All  was 
bustle  and  hurry  in  the  guard  room  and  the 
harbor.  Not  a  day  must  be  lost.  The  British 
power  must  be  vindicated.  A  gun  boat  would 
be  dispatched  forthwith  to  the  offending  shore, 
and  a  primitive  force  of  soldiers  landed  on  the  spot 
to  demand  the  extradition  of  the  guilty  and  to 
exact  signal  vengeance  for  the  wrong  that  had 
been  perpetrated. 

But  there  was  one  simple  private  of  a  line 
regiment  in  the  garrison  of  Aden  to  whom  this 
strange,  bad  news  came  home  all  at  once  with 
crushing  and  terrible  significance.  Wilfrid  Moyle 
heard  with  horror  that  the  wrecked  and  plun- 
dered steamer  was  none  other  than  the  Lord 
Mayo,  on  which  Mona  Wallace  was  to  have 
sailed  from  Bombay  for  Southampton. 

In  a  minute  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  He 
stepped  up  to  the  non-commissioned  officer  in 
charge  of  his  squad,  and  in  a  tremulous  voice 
asked  for  leave  to  speak  with  the  commandant. 

The  commandant,  though  busy  with  the  ex- 
pedition, received  him  kindly.  It  was  well 
known  in  the  garrison,  indeed,  that  Moyle  was  a 
**  come  down  gentleman,"  as  the  soldiers  phrased 
it,  who  had  enlisted  in  the  ranks  to  work  his 
way  up  to  a  commission  ;  and  the  diligent  way 
in  which  he  had  studied  Arabic  ever  since  his 


A  PKIMITIVK   EXPEDITION.  51 

arrival  at  Aden — for  he  was  born  a  linguist,  and 
he  wished  to  be  employed  on  frontier  service — 
had  attracted  no  little  attention  among  his  su- 
perior officers. 

**  Well,  Moyle,"  the  commandant  said  cheerily 
looking  up  from  the  bundle  of  charts  and  papers 
on  which  he  was  busily  engaged  with  the  Lord 
Mayo's  captain,  "  and  what  do  you  want  to-day  ? 
Quick,  out  with  it  !  I'm  hurried." 

Wilfrid  Moyle's  lips  were  ashy  white,  for  the 
news  had  come  home  to  him  as  a  terrible  shock. 
But  he  spoke  itp  with  an  effort.  "  If  there's  an 
expedition  going  off  to  the  Somanli  coast,  sir," 
he  said  slowly,  *'  to  avenge  this  massacre,  I 
should  very  much  like  leave  to  volunteer  for 
service  with  it.  I'd  take  it  as  a  great  favor  if 
you  allowed  me  to  accompany  the  forces  you 
send  there." 

The  commandant  eyed  him  keenly.  He  was 
a  spare,  stern  man. 

"  We  must  have  no  favoritism  here,  you 
know,"  he  answered  in  a  sharp  tone  of  author- 
ity. "  Why  should  you  have  a  better  chance 
of  distinguishing  yourself,  my  man,  than  any 
other  soldier  ?  I've  no  doubt  the  whole  garri- 
son would  like  to  volunteer,  if  they  could,  for 
such  a  job  as  this.  But  if  I  let  one  soldier 
offer  himself,  what  can  I  say  to  the  others  ?" 

Wilfrid's  lip  trembled  visibly. 


5^  A   lilllDE   FllOM   THE   DESERT. 

"  It  isn't  only  that,  sir,"  he  replied,  trying  hard 
to  be  calm.  "  It  isn't  merely  or  even  mainly  that 
I  want  a  chance  to  distinguish  myself — though  I 
hope  in  a  soldier  such  a  wish  is  no  blame — but 
.  .  .  I  had  a  friend  on  the  Lord  Mayo,  and  I 
want  to  know  the  worst.  I  want  to  help  in 
rescuing  her,  if  I  can  ;  and  if  not,  to  avenge  her." 

The  commandant  whistled  low,  and  took  a 
good  long  hard  stare  at  him. 

"  I  see,"  he  answered  curtly  ;  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  I  think  I  understand.  It  makes  a  dif- 
ference, certainly.  So  that's  the  way  the  wind 
blows  in  your  quarter,  is  it .?  .  .  .  Well,  Moyle, 
I'm  sorry  to  say,  let  that  be  as  it  may,  I  can't 
make  you  any  definite  promise  one  way  or  the 
other.  It  would  be  destructive  of  discipline,  you 
see — destructive  of  discipline — if  men  were 
.allowed  to  choose  their  own  posts  as  they  like 
themselves.  They  must  go  where  they're 
ordered.  All  I  can  say  for  the  present  is,  I'll 
select  for  active  service  some  sixty  or  seventy 
trustworthy  fellows."  He  paused  once  more  for 
a  moment.  Then  he  added  significa  ntly,  with  an 
after  thought,  "  And,  of  course,  I  shall  choose  for 
a  piece  of  work  like  this  the  men  I  think  most 
likely  to  carry  out  our  plans  with  zeal  and  valor 
as  well  as  with  discretion — and  a  distinction 
may  be  made  in  favor  of  soldiers  acquainted 
with  Arabic." 


A   PEIMITIVE   EXPEDITION.  53 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  Wilfrid  answered,  still 
quivering  in  every  limb,  and  he  retired,  saluting, 
but  he  wasn't  at  all  surprised  when,  half  an 
hour  later,  the  adjutant  read  out  the  names  of 
the  men  selected  for  activ^e  service  on  the 
Somanli  expedition,  and  amongst  them  he  found 
himself  among  the  earliest  chosen. 

With  them  on  the  gunboat  went  the  captain 
of  the  Lord  Mayo,  and  three  of  the  least  dan- 
gerously v^^ounded  among  the  Somanli  prisoners. 
Fanatics  as  they  were,  the  men  had  consented 
to  buy  their  lives  dear  by  promising  to  guide  the 
gunboat  to  the  offending  village,  and  to  show 
the  safest  spots  for  landing  to  attack  it.  It  was 
morning  of  the  second  day  before  the  expedition 
reached  Matafu.  The  natives,  astonished,  clus- 
tering thick  on  the  hill,  saw  them  enter  the  little 
bay,  where  the  crew  had  landed.  A  blank  shot 
from  the  big  gun  brought  them  all  down  to  the 
shore.  They  were  ready  for  fight  ;  they  knew 
what  this  move  meant,  and  were  prepared  to  re- 
sist the  Europeans  to  the  bitter  end,  with  true 
Moslem  courage.  They  felt  sure  if  they  died 
they  would  sup  that  night  with  the  houris  in 
Paradise. 

The  commandant,  an  old  stager  on  the  Arabian 
coast,  called  aloud  in  Arabic  to  the  foremost 
natives,  "  We  give  you  an  hour  to  remove  your 
women  and  children  to  a  place  of  safety.    Till 


54  A   BRIDE   FEOM   THE   DESERT. 

then  we  don't  shoot.  After  that,  unless  you  give 
up  the  guilty  to  justice,  and  make  full  repara- 
tion for  your  crime,  we  open  fire  upon  you." 

A  dervish  stood  forward  from  the  crowd  and 
waved  his  fingers  aloft  with  a  contemptuous 
gesture.  ''  Fire  away,"  he  answered  in  the  same 
tongue.  **  We're  not  afraid  of  you.  Allah  is 
with  us.     What  care  we  for  the  infidel  ?" 

"  All  right,"  the  Englishman  answered.  '*  It's 
war  to  the  knife,  then." 

The  commandant  kept  his  word  and  gave 
them  the  one  full  hour  for  the  removal.  During 
all  that  time,  much  stir  and  commotion  they 
could  see  went  on  in  the  village.  It  was  clear 
the  natives  were  turning  out  their  whole  homes, 
and  escorting  their  women  and  children  inland 
to  some  place  of  safety.  The  commandant,  eye- 
ing it  all  at  leisure  from  the  deck  through  a  field 
glass,  could  see  for  himself  there  were  certain 
women  among  them  in  white  Arab  robes  on 
whose  safety  the  savages  seemed  to  place  a  pecu- 
liar importance.  Wives  or  daughters,  no  doubt, 
he  thought  to  himself,  of  the  Imam  of  Daro,  the 
great  prophet  and  chief,  at  once  priest  and  king" 
of  that  wild  Somanli  seaboard.  And  so  they 
were  indeed,  although  not  in  the  sense  he  sup- 
posed. They  were  brides  held  in  reserve  for 
the  cruel  sheikh  of  the  desert.  At  last,  minute 
by  minute,  the  hour  wore  away,  and  th$  boom 


A   PRIMITIVE   EXPEDITION.  55 

of  a  big  gun,  roaring  fiercely  forth  for  war,  an- 
nounced to  the  villagers  that  the  temporary 
armistice  was  now  fairly  over.  As  its  sound 
died  away,  the  natives,  scattered  by  its  grape, 
rushed  headlong  from  the  shore  to  defend  their 
homesteads ;  and  the  English,  lowering  their 
boats,  made  landward  to  attack  them.  They 
preferred  this  course  to  a  cannonade  of  the  huts, 
on  the  bare  chance  that  some  of  their  friends 
might  still  perhaps  be  kept  there  as  prisoners. 

As  they  landed  and  marched  up  in  good  order 
to  the  village  of  mud-built  huts  clustering  round 
a  squalid  little  whitewashed  mosque,  a  sharp 
hand-to-hand  fight  was  kept  up  continuously. 
The  Somanlis  were  brave  with  the  reckless 
bravery  of  the  savage  fanatic.  But  the  invad- 
ers, strong  in  their  civilized  discipline,  soon 
carried  the  low  stockade  by  storm,  and  were 
struggling  inch  by  inch  for  possession  of  the 
narrow  roadways.  In  the  skirmish  that  ensued, 
by  some  casual  mistake  Wilfrid  Moyle  soon 
found  himself  separated  from  the  main  body, 
and  fighting  on  his  own  account  for  very  life 
down  a  wretched  side  alley.  There  a  dervish 
sprang  out  at  him  suddenly  from  under  a  dark 
doorway — a  bronzed  and  bearded  man,  half- 
naked  to  the  waist,  armed  with  an  English  sword 
and  an  old  rusty  pistol.  The  attack  was  so  un- 
expected that  Wilfrid,   though   walking  along 


66      *  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

warily,  was  taken  wholly  by  surprise.  And  as 
he  looked  at  the  dervish  in  his  haste,  even  in 
that  moment  of  danger — for  the  man's  sword 
was  raised  to  strike,  and  Wilfrid  had  hard  work 
with  his  own  to  parry  it — he  saw  a  sight  all  at 
once  that  made  his  blood  run  cold,  and  realized 
his  worst  fears  for  Mona's  safety. 

The  wretch  was  wearing  round  his  bare  neck 
a  little  gold  locket.  He  knew  it  at  a  glance.  It 
was  a  locket  that  he  recognized  with  a  shock  of 
horror.  He  had  given  it  to  Mona,  himself,  three 
years  ago  in  England. 

Goaded  and  maddened  by  the  sight,  he  sprang 
like  a  wildcat  at  the  fellow's  throat.  The  der- 
vish, taken  aback,  fell  a  pace  or  two  into  the 
doorway  again,  and  shouted  aloud  with  all  his 
voice  to  his  comrades  for  assistance. 

Wilfrid  dashed  on,  however,  conscious  only 
now  of  Mona's  fate  and  that  tell-tale  locket.  In 
a  perfect  frenzy  of  just  rage,  he  rushed  blindly 
at  the  Arab,  and  struck  him  twice  with  his 
sword,  till  the  blood  spurted  lustily.  But  he  was 
too  blinded  with  grief  and  wrath  to  perceive  at 
the  same  time  what  was  happening  behind  him. 
One  moment  later,  a  dozen  stout  Somanlis  had 
surrounded  him  on  all  sides.  Before  he  knew 
what  was  going  on,  he  was  overpowered  and 
hurried  away.  His  sword  and  pistol  were  taken 
from  him  by  main  force,  he  was  seized  by  either 


A   PRIMITIVE   EXPEDITION.  57 

arm,  and  hustled  rapidly  through  the  village. 
What  it  all  meant  he  knew  not.  But  at  the  end 
of  ten  minutes,  his  captors  were  marching  him 
over  loose  desert  scrub,  behind  a  long  ledge  of 
rock,  away  inland  towards  the  wilderness. 

Resistance  was  hopeless.  He  had  let  himself 
be  entrapped.  Two  stalwart  Somanlis,  proud 
of  their  prize,  held  him  tight  on  the  right,  and 
two  on  the  left  ;  a  fifth  marched  behind,  and 
prodded  him  from  time  to  time,  with  a  blunt 
spear,  to  make  him  travel  faster.  All  was  up 
with  him  now.  He  expected  his  fate.  He  was 
a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  those  ruthless  sav- 
ages, who  had  wrecked  the  Lord  Mayo  and  mur- 
dered in  cold  blood  his  spotless  Mona. 

They  marched  on  and  on,  for  full  two  or  three 
miles,  by  tortuous  ways,  across  that  burning 
valley — a  bare,  rocky  defile,  waterless  and  herb- 
less— till  they  halted  at  last  by  a  sort  of  open 
cave,  which  Wilfrid  recognized  at  once  as  a  rock 
tomb  of  some  early  race  of  settlers.  He  had 
seen  such  tombs  before  by  the  dozen  in  Egypt 
and  at  Aden.  At  the  door  of  the  cave,  an  Arab 
sheikh  sat  watchful,  a  long,  white-bearded  man, 
who  bowed  slightly  to  his  captors. 

"  Who  have  you  there  ?"  he  asked  in  Arabic, 
which  Wilfrid  understood  now  almost  as  easily 
as  French  or  German. 


58  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

The  Somanlis  answered  in  the  same  tongue, 
spoken  with  a  strong  negro  accent  : 

"  One  of  the  infidels  from  the  ship.  Allah 
gave  him  into  our  hands.  He  is  a  soldier  of  the 
Franks.     We  have  taken  him  as  a  hostage." 

With  a  happy  burst  of  intuition,  Wilfrid 
judged  it  best  to  conceal  his  knowledge  of  their 
words,  so  as  to  learn  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
enemy's  intentions.  The  sheikh  bent  his  head 
once  more  with  a  dignified  bow,  in  solemn  east- 
ern fashion. 

**  It  is  well,"  he  made  answer,  slowly.  '*  Allah 
is  great.  His  ways  are  wonderful.  He  has  per- 
mitted the  Franks  to  sack  Matafu  for  the  mo- 
ment. Who  shall  explain  his  designs  ?  But  he 
will  deliver  Islam  yet  from  the  power  of  the  in- 
fidel. We  will  take  this  heathen  prisoner  up 
country  to  the  Imam  of  Daro.  He  will  be  use- 
ful there.  We  can  ask  him  questions  then  about 
the  plans  of  the  infidels.  For  there  are  people 
with  the  Imam,  refugees  from  Khartoum,  who 
speak  the  tongue  of  the  Franks,  and  who  know 
their  ways,  they  will  question  him  straitly  as  to 
their  wicked  devices." 

The  leader  of  the  Somanlis  laid  his  hand  on 
his  breast.  '*  It  was  for  that,  O  servant  of 
Allah  !"  he  said  with  much  dignity,  "  that  we 
broug^ht  him  aliv^  here.    We  can  torture  him 


A   PRIMITIVE    EXPEDITION.  59 

till  he  tells.  Otherwise,  we  might  have  hacked 
him  at  once  into  little  pieces." 

"  Good,"  the  sheikh  answered,  never  stirring 
from  his  place.  "  You  are  faithful  servants. 
Take  him  on,  then,  and  guard  him  with  the 
other  prisoners." 

The  Somanlis  passed  on,  still  holding  Wilfrid 
between  them,  to  another  similar  cave,  some 
twenty  yards  further  up  the  rocky  valley.  At 
the  mouth  they  halted  ;  then  they  pushed  Wil- 
frid in,  not  unaided  by  the  blunt  spear,  with 
very  little  ceremony.  The  cave  was  in  gloom, 
like  most  of  these  old  tombs,  hewn  deep  into  the 
living  rock  of  the  desert  hills,  and  it  was  a  mo- 
ment or  so  before  his  eyes  could  accustom  them- 
selves to  the  darkness.  All  he  could  see  just  at 
first  was  a  couple  of  women  in  native  Arab  cos- 
tume, with  veiled  faces  and  white  robes,  cower- 
ing timidly  in  a  corner,  and  watched  by  a  small 
squad  of  villainous  armed  natives.  But  before 
he  could  make  out  any  more,  one  of  the  women 
had  risen  up  with  a  sudden  cry  of  surprise  ;  and, 
rushing  wildly  forward,  was  clinging  to  his  neck 
in  a  perfect  transport  of  joy  and  affection.  "  Oh  ! 
Wilfrid,"  she  cried  in  English,  "  I  knew  you'd 
come,  I  knew  j'ou'd  come  to  save  us  !  See, 
there,  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  I  told  you  so  !  I  knew  it  ! 
This  is  Wilfrid  Moyle,.  come  alone   to  deliver 

us  r 


60        A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 


CHAPTER  V. 


UP    COUNTRY    TO    DARO. 


It's  all  very  well  to  be  welcomed  in  a  rock 
tomb  by  a  pretty  girl  in  Oriental  costume,  who 
assures  herself  the  moment  she  sees  you  that 
you've  come  to  deliver  her  ;  but  how  to  make 
any  reasonable  use  of  your  opportunitCvS,  under 
such  painful  circumstances,  there's  the  rub, 
that's  the  question  ;  and  Wilfrid  Moyle  was  fain 
to  confess  after  the  first  wild  burst  of  joy  at 
finding"  Mona  still  alive,  against  all  hope  and  ex- 
pectation, was  fairly  over,  that  his  chances  of 
saving  her  seemed  unpleasantly  precarious.  A 
prisoner  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  Somanlis, 
he  had  a  very  slender  idea  of  getting  away  alone 
and  still  less  of  carrying  Mona  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy 
along  with  him.  For  one  thing,  however,  he 
was  profoundly  grateful,  and  that  was  the  good- 
luck  that  had  made  him  think  instinctively  of 
concealing  from  his  captors  his  intimate  know- 
ledge of  Arabic.  He  saw  at  once  that  the  fact 
of  his  understanding  their  conversation,  without 
a  suspicion  of  it  on  their  part,  gave  him  just  one 
feeble  hope  of  escaping  from  captivity. 


UP   COUNTRY   TO   DARO.  61 

"  Mona,"  he  cried,  accepting  her  natural 
caress  as  frankly  as  she  gave  it,  "  I've  come 
as  you  thought  I  would  ;  but  I  came  to  avenge 
you,  not  to  deliver  you.  We  heard  you  were  all 
killed.     Are  there  any  more  left  alive  of  you  ?" 

Mona  clung  to  him  still,  with  a  natural  im- 
pulse of  affection,  but  shook  her  head  mourn- 
fully. "  No,  not  one,"  she  answered  hanging  on 
his  neck  like  a  child  on  her  brother's.  "  Only 
Mrs.  D'Arcy  and  me.  Oh,  Wilfrid,  it  was  hor- 
rible !  They  killed  all  the  rest  of  them  in  cold 
blood  before  us." 

She  was  very  much  unnerved,  it  was  clear,  by 
this  terrible  episode.  Wilfrid  could  see  that 
much  at  a  glance.  It  had  stunned  and  dazed 
her.  "  But  how  did  you  come  here,"  he  asked, 
"  and  in  these  dresses,  too  ?  What  have  they 
done  with  your  own  things  and  your  friend's, 
dear  Mona  ?" 

The  poor  child  clung  to  him  in  a  speechless 
agony  of  mingled  joy  and  shame  and  fear.  "  I 
don't  know,"  she  answered,  sobbing.  "I  don't 
know,  what  they  mean.  I'm  half  dead  with 
fright.  They  brought  us  here  like  you  see. 
They  threatened  us  they'd  kill  us  if  we  didn't 
come  along  quietly  with  them." 

Mrs.  D'Arcy,  more  calm,  was  a  little  more 
explicit.  "  They  kept  us  under  guard  in  a  hut 
in  the  village  from  the  wreck  till  this  morning," 


62  A  BRIDE  from:  the  desert. 

she  put  in  luirricdl}',  for  she  hardly  knew  how 
long  their  jailors  would  allow  them  to  converse 
like  this  ;  *'  and  then,  about  nine  o'clock,  we 
heard  a  great  noise  and  commotion  outside. 
The  men  who  had  charge  of  us  rushed  in  to  us 
then,  and  brought  us  these  native  clothes — for 
up  till  that  time  we'd  worn  our  own — and  made 
signs  to  us  that  we  must  make  haste  and  change 
them  instantly.  We  were  afraid  to  put  them  on, 
though,  and  shook  our  heads  and  refused  ;  so 
after  that,  the  men  went  away  and  sent  in  three 
or  four  great  strong  built  Somanli  women,  who 
held  us  down  with  their  big  black  hands,  and 
undressed  us  forcibly.  As  soon  as  we  were 
undressed,  they  put  these  things  on  us,  and  made 
us  look  like  Arab  women.  Then  they  took  our 
own  clothes,  and  sprinkled  them  with  goat's 
blood,  and  left  them  on  the  floor  in  the  hut,  as 
if  we'd  been  killed  and  buried  there.  Mona's 
locket  and  my  rings,  the  men  divided  amongst 
themselves  ;  and  one  of  the  women  had  my 
brooch  and  bracelet.  As  soon  as  all  was 
finished,  they  blindfolded  us,  partly,  and  hurried 
us  out  by  a  bare  path  across  the  open  desert, 
and  then  by  winding  ravines  away  to  this  cave 
here.  As  we  came  along,  however,  we  heard  the 
boom  of  a  ship's  gun  behind  us,  and  we  knew 
then  the  English  were  coming  to  rescue  us.  But 
we  couldn't  turn  and  join  them  ;  they  hurried 


TIP   COUNTRY   TO   DARO.  63 

lis  away  here  so  fast,  and  they've  kept  us  here 
all  day  in  suspense  and  terror  while  we've  heard 
the  firing." 

Wilfrid  drew  a  deep  breath.  This  was  very 
hard  luck.  He  felt  sure  the  attacking  party, 
after  burning  the  village  and  finding  no  sign  of 
white  prisoners  in  the  huts,  would  go  back  to 
the  gunboat  ;'and  even  iE  it  didn't,  without  good 
knowledge  of  the  country,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  them  to  discover  these  remote  rock- 
caves  in  so  intricate  a  ravine  of  the  desert 
ranges.  No  one  knows  who  hasn't  seen  them, 
how  trackless  they  can  be.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath.  It  was  all  up  with  them  clearly.  They 
must  all  be  taken  up  country  to  Daro,  that  was 
certain  now ;  and  he  must  trust  to  the  chapter 
of  accidents  for  saving  Mona. 

As  he  stood  there,  still  soothing  her,  but  much 
troubled  in  soul,  a  terrible  idea  rose  up  suddenly 
in  his  mind.  At  any  moment  the  Arabs  might 
step  forward  and  separate  them.  It  was  now  or 
never.  He  mightn't  see  her  again.  Was  it  his 
duty  to  save  her  from  disgrace  and  dishonor  ? 
They  might  hurry  him  away,  to  death  or  tor- 
ture ;  they  might  carry  off  his  Mona  to  the 
Imam  of  Daro.  That  thought  made  his  blood 
boil  with  rage  and  horror.  Mona,  his  Mona,  that 
spotless  Mona,  a  slave  in  the  harem  of  some  vile 
African  princeling  !     It  was  more  than  Euro- 


64  A    BRIDE   PROM   THE    DESERT. 

pean  flesh  and  blood  can  stand.  Dishonor  or 
death  ?     One  second  he  hesitated. 

What  was  that  the  old  sheikh  in  the  other 
cave  had  said  ?  "  We  will  take  this  prisoner  up 
country  to  the  Imam  of  Daro.  We  can  ask  him 
questions  there  about  his  people's  plans.  For 
there  are  prisoners  with  the  Imam,  refug-ees 
from  Khartoum,  who  speak  the  tongue  of  the 
Franks  and  who  will  question  him  straitly." 
Then  they  were  going  up  country  to  Daro,  that 
much  at  least  was  certain  ;  and  hadn't  the  old 
sheikh  added  also  to  his  captors  :  **  Take  him  on 
and  guard  him  with  the  other  prisoners."  Why 
hadn't  they  killed  Mrs.  D'Arcy  and  Mona  when 
they  killed  the  rest  of  the  Lord  Mayo's  passen- 
gers ?  Clearly  because  they  were  the  two  young- 
est and  prettiest  of  the  women,  reserved  as  a 
prize  for  the  hateful  chief  of  Daro.  When  Wil- 
frid thought  what  that  prospect  meant,  his  blood 
ran  alternately  hot  and  cold  within  him.  Could 
he  let  Mona  fall  into  this  vile  wretch's  hands  } 
Was  it  not  rather  his  duty  then  and  there  to 
save  her — to  save  her  from  that  fate  by  falling 
upon  her  at  once  and  choking  her  with  his 
kindly  English  hands — those  strong,  brave  hands 
— those  tender  hands  that  loved  her  ? 

For  an  instant  he  trembled  in  fear  and  per- 
plexity  ;  his  fingers  twitched  doubtfully.  Then 
the  men  in  the  cave,  who  had  fallen  back  just  at 


UP   COUNTRY   TO   DAEO.  65 

first  in  surprise  and  indecision  at  this  unex- 
pected recognition,  stood  forward  and  waved 
him  back,  saying  in  broken  Arabic  (for  they 
were  black  Somanlis),  *'  The  brides  of  the 
Imam  !     Keep  your  infidel  hands  away  !" 

Wilfrid  glared  at  them,  indignant.  But  it  was 
all  in  vain.  They  were  stronger  than  he.  Oh, 
how  he  longed  to  jump  at  the  fellows'  throats, 
and  free  Mona  then  and  there  from  such  a 
deadly  future  !  But  that  was  clearly  impossible. 
He  hesitated  still.  Then  with  a  sinking  heart 
he  stood  back  sullenly.  As  he  did  so,  his  con- 
science half  smoie  him  for  the  delay.  Had  he 
done  right  or  wrong  ?  Wasn't  it  his  clear  duty 
to  save  Mona  still  while  he  had  the  bare  chance  ? 
Was  he  justified  in  letting  them  take  her  into 
that  terrible  slavery  ? 

The  Somanlis,  pushing  him  back,  made  him 
sit  down  behind  on  the  bare  floor  of  the  cave. 
Mona  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  crouching  apart  in 
another  corner,  they  guarded  equally  with  their 
swords  and  rifles.  For  half  an  hour,  nothing 
more  was  said  or  done  on  either  side.  Then  a 
faint  echo  rang  slowly  through  the  desert  hills. 
They  pricked  up  their  ears.  It  was  the  boom  of 
a  cannon.  Another  further  off  .  .  .  yet  an- 
other, still  fainter.  Wilfrid  guessed  what  that 
meant.  The  primitive  expedition  had  accom- 
plished its  work.     Matafu  was  in  ashes.     Its  de- 


66  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE    DESERT. 

fenders  lay  dead.  The  troops  had  returned  to 
the  gunboat,  after  destroying  the  village.  And 
they  were  now  on  their  way  back  again  home  to 
Aden. 

They  would  take  with  them  news  that  Private 
Moyle  was  missing  ;  and  that  in  the  smoking 
huts  of  the  native  village  they  had  found  the 
blood-stained  clothes  of  two  English  ladies  mur- 
dered by  the  Somanlis. 

An  hour  or  two  more  elapsed,  and  still  the 
English  prisoners  sat  there  in  the  stifling  tropi- 
cal gloom  of  that  stuffy  cavern.  Slowly  evening 
came  on,  and  their  jailers  brought  them  a  little 
fresh  fruit,  and  some  thin  cakes  of  millet.  They 
ate  them  in  silence,  though  the  food  seemed  to 
choke  them.  At  last,  as  all  began  to  grow  dark, 
on  a  sudden  like  a  ghost  the  old  sheikh  loomed 
large  in  his  white  robes  at  the  door  of  the  tomb, 
and  murmured  something  in  Arabic,  which  Mona 
and  Mrs.  D'Arcy  didn't  of  course  understand ; 
but  to  Wilfrid  it  came  as  prompt  orders  for  a 
start.  They  were  to  travel  all  night  up  country 
towards  Daro. 

"  The  camels  are  coming,"  the  sheikh  con- 
tinued quietly,  in  the  low,  calm  tone  of  Oriental 
dignity.  *'  Get  ready  your  slaves.  Bring  out 
the  women  and  the  infidel.  Let  them  prepare 
for  a  journey.     We  start  immediately." 

*'  Shall  we  tie  his   hands    behind   him,  O  de- 


UP   COUNTRY   TO   DA.RO.  67 

scendant  of  the  Prophet  ?"  the  nearest  Somanli 
asked  of  the  white-robed  Arab.  And  Wilfrid 
awaited  the  reply  with  profound  interest.  It 
might  make  all  the  difference  on  earth  to  their 
chance  of  escape  whether  he  were  bound  hand 
and  foot,  or  had  his  limbs  at  liberty. 

The  sheikh  deliberated  a  moment. 

*'  Let  him  go  free,"  he  answered,  slowly. 
"  He'll  be  less  trouble  so,  for  the  present,  on  the 
camel.  And  we  can  guard  him  well.  Don't 
hurt  the  women,  either  ;  but  if  the  man  tries  to 
escape,  or  if  you  even  suspect  it,  don't  hesitate 
for  a  second — shoot  him  down  immediately." 

As  he  spoke,  the  camels  came  sauntering 
round,  with  their  stately  tread,  to  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  and,  obedient  to  the  word  of  command, 
after  their  clumsy  fashion,  knelt  down  one  leg  at 
a  time  to  receive  their  riders.  The  sheikh 
mounted  first  and  composed  himself  for  his 
march  ;  then  the  Somanlis  brought  out  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  and  Mona.  The  two  terrified  women 
cast  a  mute  glance  at  Wilfrid,  but  didn't  dare  to 
speak.  The  natives  helped  them  on  to  the 
camels,  bundling  them  up  unceremoniously, 
with  no  more  sense  of  chivalry  or  consideration 
for  their  feelings  than  if  those  English  ladies 
had  been  bags  of  dates  or  bales  of  cotton.  It 
made  Wilfrid's  blood  boil  to  look  at  such  brutal- 
ity.   But  for  their  own  sakes,  he  endured.    To 


68  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

the  Somanlis,  indeed,  these  were  only  women, 
and  infidel  women  at  that — worth  less  consider- 
ation than  slaves  or  the  dumb  beasts  that  perish. 

Slowly,  in  the  gray  dusk,  the  caravan  got 
under  way.  Then  began  a  long  and  weary  all- 
night  march,  across  the  sands  and  rocks,  through 
the  interminable  and  seemingly  trackless  desert. 
The  sheikh  went  first,  a  dim,  white-robed  figure 
on  his  own  swift  camel  ;  Mrs.  D'Arcy  and  Mona, 
close  watched  on  either  side  by  half-naked  Som- 
anlis on  foot,  with  old  Egyptian  government 
rifles,  came  next  in  order  ;  and  Wilfrid  brought 
up  the  rear  on  a  two-humped  gray  beast  fol- 
lowed by  a  long  line  of  Arab  fugitives  from 
Matafu.  Some  of  them  marched  on  foot,  some 
rode  their  own  camels.  The  procession  wound 
in  and  out  among  the  bare,  gray  hills,  following 
a  long  ravine  which  in  any  other  country  on 
earth  would  have  been  threaded  by  a  water- 
course. But  in  that  dry  and  burnt-up  East 
African  climate,  all  was  barren  and  dusty  ;  un- 
derfoot the  coarse  sand  or  loose  pebble  disinteg- 
rated from  the  rocks  ;  on  either  side  the  gray 
hills  ;  overhead,  a  vast  expanse  of  thick,  starlit 
sky  ;  no  tree,  no  plant,  no  grass,  no  water. 

Hour  after  hour  they  plodded  on,  for  the  most 
part  in  silence.  It  was  a  weird  and  terrible 
scene.  Mona  had  never  before  beheld  anything 
like  it.     On  either  hand   stretched    the  desert> 


UP   COUNTRY   TO   DAKO.  61) 

not,  as  most  people  falsely  picture  it,  a  vast  plain 
of  sand,  but  a  district  of  absolutely  bare  and 
rock-built  mountains.  Behind  lay  the  ravine 
through  which  they  had  already  wound  their 
toilsome  way  ;  in  front,  the  ravine  through 
which  they  were  still  to  wind  it. 

The  stillness  of  the  night  grew  painfully  op- 
pressive. Not  a  sound  could  be  heard  for  the 
most  part  save  the  padded  footfall  of  the  camels 
on  the  bare  ground  beneath  their  feet.  Here 
and  there,  where  the  valleys  opened  out  a  little 
wider,  lay  great  beds  of  sand,  which  the  wind 
whirled  round  at  intervals  into  columns  in  the 
shape  of  waterspouts.  As  Mona  looked  at  them 
gliding  from  place  to  place  like  so  many  dark 
spectres,  her  heart  misgave  her.  They  looked 
like  angry  fiends.  She  wrapped  her  Arab  dress 
round  her  face  in  her  terror,  and  cried  to  herself 
silently. 

About  midnight  they  halted  for  a  while  in  a 
big  hollow  basin,  ringed  round  by  black  hills, 
and  strewn  with  volcanic  boulders.  The  soil 
was  .gravelly,  very  rough  and  arid.  But  the 
sheikh  gave  the  word :  "  The  wells  of  Belad- 
yssa  !"  In  a  moment  the  caravan  stood  still 
through  all  its  length,  and  the  camels  stretching 
their  necks  awaited  their  first  drink  since  the 
day  before  yesterday. 

The  Somanlis  began  to  scrape  away  the  sand 


70  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

in  some  shallow  depressions  in  front  of  the  halt, 
and  soon  came  to  an  oozy  bed  of  very  dirty  and 
half-brackish  water.  Of  this,  the  camels  drank 
first,  and  when  their  thirst  was  quenched,  the 
Ai  '^s  and  natives  helped  themselves  in  turn. 
Laot  of  all,  they  handed  up  a  cup  or  two  of  the 
noisome  liquid  to  Wilfrid,  and  then  to  Mona  and 
her  companion.  It  was  bitter  and  nauseous,  but 
still,  one  must  drink  ;  after  five  hours  of  desert 
dust  it  refreshed  them  slightly. 

And  so  ceaselessly  till  morning  they  threaded 
on  and  on  those  intricate  defiles,  without  sight 
of  a  human  home  or  a  green  plant  on  any  side. 

As  they  marched  along  through  the  desert,  the 
camels  lifting  leisurely  feet  all  the  while  over 
the  stones  and  boulders  that  strewed  the  uncer- 
tain trail,  Wilfrid  Moyle  had  plenty  of  time  to 
recall  to  himself  in  his  awe  all  the  facts  or 
rumors  he  had  heard  in  the  guard-room  at  Aden 
about  the  Imam  of  Daro,  that  wild  Arab  ma- 
rauder, towards  whose  rude  court  they  were  now 
making  their  slow  way  through  the  mountains. 
Thirty  years  before,  he  remembered  to  have 
heard  a  fierce  adventurer  from  Nejd  on  the 
opposite  mainland,  professing  the  faith  of  the 
fanatical  Wahabi  sect  of  Mahommedans,  had 
crossed  over  to  Africa,  and  by  a  series  of  bloody 
crimes  had  made  himself  Sultan  of  the  oasis  of 
Daro  and  the  half-heathen  Somanlis,     But  only 


UP   COUNTEr   TO   DARO.  71 

ten  years  before  the  time  when  Wilfrid  and 
Mona  were  taken  prisoners  at  Matafu,  the 
nephew  of  this  fillibustering  chief,  a  sort  of 
Arab  Richard  III.,  had  succeeded  to  his  uncle's 
throne  among  the  desert  hills  by  the  simple  pro- 
cess of  assassinating  his  predecessor,  and  all 
other  possible  claimants  to  the  Imamship  of 
Daro.  Wilfrid  recollected  to  have  heard  that 
the  present  Imam  had  murdered  in  cold  blood 
with  his  own  hand  his  two  brothers  and  his 
nephew,  besides  strangling  in  prison  by  the 
hands  of  his  servants  sixteen  alternative  rivals. 
And  now  he  ruled  undisputed  in  the  inland 
town  of  Daro,  a  half  African,  half  Arab  city  of 
mosques  and  mud  walls,  girt  round  by  an  oasis 
of  waving  palms  where  his  word  was  law,  and 
his  cruelties  were  im bounded. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  the  camels  stepped 
wearier  over  the  burning  stones,  Wilfrid's  heart 
began  to  sink  ever  lower  and  lower  at  the 
fate  in  store  for  his  spotless  Mona.  His  con- 
science smote  him  now  that  he  hadn't  had  the 
courage  to  kill  her  innocently  while  he  could. 
Such  a  chance  as  that  mightn't  occur  again. 
And  the  alternative  was  really  too  terrible  to 
face.  At  each  step  across  the  desert,  Wilfrid 
bethought  him  afresh  of  some  further  and  more 
hideous  story  he  had  heard  at  Aden  of  the 
Imam's  atrocities.    The  man  was  a  monster  of 


72  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

crime,  kept  in  his  place  by  fanaticism  ;  a  de- 
bauched, worn-out,  inhuman  tyrant,  a  ruler  who 
outraged  every  feeling  even  of  his  savage  sub- 
jects, but  made  up  for  his  excesses  by  his  relig- 
ious intolerance.  And  Mona  as  a  Christian  would 
be  all  the  more  exposed  to  the  twofold  dangers 
of  the  man's  evil  passions.  Wilfrid  reproached 
himself  bitterly  for  having  let  slip  last  night  a 
chance  that  perhaps  might  never  come  back 
again. 

At  last  dawn  began  to  crimson  the  bare  hill- 
tops to  eastward.  Slowly  the  sun  rose,  and  as 
the  first  rays  of  his  light  struck  the  crest  of  the 
mountains,  the  caravan  stopped  and  all  the 
Moslems  of  the  escort  fell  prone  on  their  knees 
and  engaged  in  their  devotions.  The  very 
beasts  stood  still,  with  their  heads  bent  low  ; 
and  the  Somanlis  and  Arabs,  ail  ranged  on  the 
sand  in  a  line,  with  their  faces  towards  Mecca, 
lifted  up  their  voices  together  in  one  long  wail- 
ing cry  of  ''  Allah  Ekber,  Allah  Ekber  !"  When 
they  started  on  their  way  again,  the  desert  sun 
shone  mercilessly  on  their  heads  ;  but  still  the 
camels  plodded  on — plodded  on  unwearied. 
About  eight  o'clock,  the  heat  became  unendur- 
able. By  that  time,  however,  they  had  reached 
a  point  which  was  clearly  a  familiar  stopping 
place  for  the  worst  part  of  the  day.  A  huge 
pinn^clQ  of  sandstone  cast  a  shade  in  whose  shel- 


TIP   COUNTRY   TO   DARO.  73 

ter  the  Somanlis  raised  a  rough  tent  of  skins. 
They  dismounted  and  lay  down.  It  was  "  the 
shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  thirsty  land."  In 
spite  of  all  the  dangers  and  difficulties  ahead, 
Wilfrid  and  his  companions  were  too  weary  with 
their  long  ride  not  to  fall  asleep  at  once  on  the 
open  desert.  Mona  was  breathing  peacefully 
almost  as  soon  as  she  laid  her  head  on  the  rough 
pillow  of  her  saddle.  Wilfrid  Moyle  took  a  little 
longer  to  escape  his  own  thoughts.  But  before 
half  an  hour  was  over,  he  was  sleeping  like  a 
child  with  his  head  propped  on  bare  stone  and 
his  bed  the  desert.  The  Somanlis  slept,  too  ; 
but  with  a  rifle  by  their  side.  If  Wilfrid  had 
attempted  for  one  moment  to  move,  they  would 
have  shot  him  down  ruthlesslv. 


74  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN    AFRICAN    REVOLUTION. 

They  slept  all  day.  The  sun  burnt  fiercely. 
It  was  evening  when  they  awoke  ;  and  even 
then  Wilfrid  was  roused  from  a  very  deep  slum- 
ber by  the  vague  noise  of  preparation  for  a 
fresh  march  towards  Daro.  He  jumped  up  with 
a  start.  The  Somanlis  all  round  were  getting 
the  camels  ready,  and  the  white-robed  sheikh, 
on  his  little  square  of  prayer  mat,  was  swearing 
strange  oaths  at  his  slaves  and  directing  opera- 
tions. Big  negroes  rubbed  down  the  tired 
beasts  with  dirty,  dust-laden  cloths,  and  strapped 
the  saddles  with  tight  girths  on  their  galled  and 
jaded  backs,  while  the  patient  creatures  them- 
selves stood  still  and  unmoved,  chewing  the  cud 
of  yesterday's  meal  in  their  habitual  hunger. 
Outside,  two  Arab  cooks  squatted  low  on  the 
ground  mixing  an  uninviting  pillau  with  meat 
and  millet,  or  pouring  brackish  water  from  the 
midnight  well  into  rude  cups  of  earthenware. 

Wilfrid  drew  a  deep  breath.  He  shrank 
from  the  idea  that  Mona  had  still  three  more 


AN   AFRICAN   REVOLUTION.  75 

nights  like  this  one  to  expect  before  reaching 
Daro.  And  yet,  when  Daro  itself  was  reached, 
things  would  be  even  worse  than  ever.  For 
what  were  the  mere  discomforts  of  desert  trav- 
elling compared  with  the  unspeakable,  unthink- 
able future  in  store  for  her  henceforth  in  the 
Imam's  harem  ? 

Before  the  breakfast  or  supper — which  you 
will — was  ready,  however,  a  loud  sound  in  front 
roused  Wilfrid's  attention  by  its  unexpected  tur- 
moil. It  was  the  noise  of  a  great  event — of  that 
he  felt  sure.  He  sat  in  the  tent  still  guarded  by 
an  armed  Somanli,  while  Mona  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy 
were  shielded  a  little  on  one  side  behind  a  rude 
camel's  hair  curtain.  But  even  so,  he  could 
hear  a  voice  crying  aloud  in  wild  tones  to  the 
leader  of  the  caravan,  "  In  Allah's  name  and  the 
Prophet's,  halt  hard  !     Whence  come  you?" 

"  From  Matafu,"  the  sheikh  made  answer 
without  altering  his  demeanor  one  jot  or  tittle  ; 
"  from  Matafu,  which  the  infidels  have  fired  and 
destroyed ;  and  we  alone  have  escaped  to  tell 
the  tale  in  Daro.  But  we  take  up  a  prisoner  of 
war,  a  Frank  whom  we  captured,  and  brides  for 
the  Imam,  the  servant  of  Allah." 

"  Then  you  can  go  back  again  to  Matafu,"  the 
voice  retorted  grimly.  "  You  are  not  wanted  up 
here.  For  the  followers  of  our  Mahdi  have  fallen 
upon  Daro,  and  slain  your  Imam,  who  was  no 


76  A   BRIDE    FEOM   THE   DESERT, 

servant  of  Allah,  but  an  ally  of  the  infidel.  And 
Daro  town  is  in  the  hands  of  the  dervishes  ;  and 
our  Mahdi  has  sent  his  own  brother  with  an 
armed  force  to  bear  rule  in  the  oasis." 

What  happened  next,  Wilfrid  never  knew. 
He  was  only  aware  of  great  noise  and  turmoil. 
Hastily  the  Somanlis  and  Arabs  ate  their  even- 
ing meal  and  with  many  loud  cries  got  their 
camels  ready.  But  Wilfrid  himself  was  thrust 
all  at  once  into  the  inner  chamber  with  Mona 
and  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  where  he  could  see  or  hear 
nothing,  and  could  hardly  tell  what  was  going 
on  outside  the  tent  he  was  imprisoned  in. 

By  and  bye,  the  noise  without  began  to  sub- 
side slowly.  The  sounds  died  away.  Quiet 
came  over  the  camp.  It  was  clear  the  main 
body  had  moved  on  somewhere  else.  Wilfrid 
began  to  suspect  they  were  left  alone  with  their 
guards,  two  half-clad  Somanlis,  armed  with 
Egyptian  rifles. 

If  only  he  were  sure  of  it,  he  might  make  an 
effort  to  escape  !  But  he  couldn't  be  sure.  Per- 
haps the  other  tents  might  still  harbor  armed 
men.  **  I  wish,  Mona,"  he  ventured  to  begin  : 
but  before  he  could  utter  another  word,  the  So- 
manlis by  his  side  had  raised  his  rifle  and  pointed 
it  full  at  him.  •'  The  sheikh  told  us  to  fire,"  he 
said  to  his  companion  in  Arabic,  "  if  they  ven- 
tured to  speak.     Keep  a  good  look  out   upoa 


AN  AFRICAN   REVOLUTION.  77 

them,  Mahmoud.  Not  a  sound  !  Not  a  move- 
ment !  The  sheikh  holds  us  responsible  for 
not  letting  them  go.  He  will  come  back  to 
fetch  them.     It  is  as  Allah  wills  it." 

Wilfrid  leant  back,  and  took  no  further  notice 
of  his  companions  for  the  moment.  Not  a 
muscle  of  his  face  betrayed  to  the  men  the  fact 
that  he  heard  and  understood  them.  An  hour 
or  two  passed  and  the  night  grew  very  dark. 
The  weird  silence  of  the  desert  seemed  to  brood 
over  the  scene.  Bit  by  bit  their  guardians  dozed 
and  nodded,  and  woke  again  with  a  start,  and 
looked  hard  at  the  prisoners.  It  was  plain  they 
were  bored.  One  of  them  gazed  across  lan- 
guidly at  the  other  and  yawned  a  weary  yawn. 
"  This  is  slow  work,"  he  said  again  in  Arabic. 
"  Allah  is  great ;  but  it  will  be  a  long  toil  wait- 
ing for  them  here  four  days  and  nights  all  alone 
in  the  desert.  They  should  have  given  us  more 
men.  I  wish  they  had  left  some  others  beside 
you  and  me  here  to  watch  these  three  infidels. 
If  we  two  have  to  do  it  alone,  we  shall  soon  be 
pretty  sick  of  it." 

Wilfrid  could  hardly  resist  drawing  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief.  Then  they  were  alone  after  all 
with  the  two  armed  Somanlis  !  It  was  some- 
thing at  least  to  know  that  much*.  He  leant 
back  silently,  and  let  his  eye  catch  Mona's. 
Neither  uttered  a  word,  but  a  mute  look  full  of 


78  A   BlUDE    FUOM   THE   DESERT. 

meaning  passed  rapidly  between  them.  Mona 
asked  with  her  eyes  : 

"  Are  there  more  than  these  two  ?" 

And  Wilfrid  answered  her  promptly  in  the 
same  dumb  language. 

**  No,  none  but  just  these.  Keep  awake  and 
watch  them." 

More  long  hours  went  by.  Presently  the 
Somanlis  dozed  off  again,  with  their  hands  still 
nervously  grasping  their  rifles.  Their  heads 
dropped  on  their  breasts,  and  they  breathed 
deep  and  slow  like  a  pair  of  tired  children.  The 
moment  for  action  had  surely  come.  .  .  . 
Whisht !  Whisht  !  Not  a  sound  now  !  .  .  . 
Cautiously  and  stealthily,  Wilfrid  raised  himself 
on  his  elbows  from  the  ground  till  he  sat,  half 
erect,  looking  across  towards  Mona.  Without 
uttering  a  word,  without  making  an  unnecessary 
movement,  he  held  out  one  palm  very  straight 
in  front  of  him.  Then,  with  the  forefinger  of 
the  other  hand,  he  began  to  trace  on  it  slowly 
in  dumb  show  various  letters  of  the  alphabet — 
W,  H,  E,  N,  I,  S,  E,  and  so  forth.  With  breath- 
less attention,  Mona  and  Mrs.  D'Arcy  leant 
eagerly  forward  and  followed  his  hand  while  he 
proceeded  to  trace  capital  after  capital.  As 
they  read  feach  letter,  they  nodded  a  noiseless 
assent ;  at  the  end  of  each  word,  which  Wilfrid 
emphasized  by  closing  his  palm  in  silence  for  a 


AN   AFRICAN    REVOLUTION.  79 

moment  and  then  opening  it  once  more,  they 
signified  acquiescence  by  a  lowering  of  their 
eyebrows.  But  the  message  itself  as  it  grew 
plain  made  them  quiver  with  nervousness — it 
was  so  much  to  ask  of  two  poor  weak  women. 
For  these  were  the  words  that  in  fear  and 
trembling  they  spelt  slowly  out  : 

"  When  I  seize  this  one's  rifle,  wrench  the 
other  man's  from  him  and  point  and  fire.  I'll 
give  the  signal  with  a  nod.  Don't  hesitate 
instantly  to  snatch  it  and  shoot  him. 

Mona  drew  back  all  aghast  in  unspeakable 
horror.  Even  for  dear  life's  sake,  she  felt  she 
couldn't,  she  daren't  take  a  fellow  creature's  life. 
But  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  as  became  her  years,  was 
bolder.  After  a  second's  hesitation,  she  nodded 
and  gave  an  answering  wave  of  the  hand.  There 
was  a  moment's  deep  pause.  Their  hearts  stood 
still  within  them.  Then  Wilfrid  raised  one  hand 
to  bespeak  attention.  With  a  sudden  resolve  he 
gave  the  fatal  nod.  It  was  neck  or  nothing 
now  ;  either  death  or  freedom. 

Without  one  instant's  faltering,  he  leant  hastily 
forward  ;  wrenched  the  rifle  with  a  jerk  from 
the  dozing  Somanli's  grasp  ;  and  before  the  fel- 
low was  well  aware  what  was  really  happening, 
had  raised  it  and  covered  him  with  the  mouth  of 
the  barrel.  Quick  as  lightning,  the  Somanli 
saw  what  was  taking  place,   and  drawing  his 


80  A    BlllDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

short,  native  dagger,  sprang  forward  upon  the 
white  man.  There  was  a  short  hand  to  hand 
struggle.  It  was  a  life  and  death  fight.  Releas- 
ing himself  with  an  effort,  Wilfrid  fired  full  at 
him.  The  ball  entered  the  negro's  chest  and 
passed  through  him  like  wildfire.  The  Somanli 
staggered  and  fell,  still  lunging  out  with  his 
knife.  A  look  of  unutterable  hatred  played 
round  the  fellow's  clenched  teeth.  It  was  ghastly 
to  look  at  in  its  concentrated  malignity.  Wilfrid 
leapt  upon  his  neck.  The  man  shrieked  and 
died  heavily. 

At  the  very  same  moment,  as  Wilfrid  seized 
the  nearer  rifle,  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  with  feminine 
quickness,  had  caught  the  other  man's  gun,  and, 
in  an  access  of  wild  courage,  snatched  it  rapidly 
from  him.  The  negro  awakened  at  once  by  the 
movement,  jumped  up  and  confronted  her. 

"  Here,  hold  it  with  me,  Mona  !"  the  brave 
woman  cried  out,  jumping  back  and  firing  at 
him  like  a  tigress. 

But  Mona  clapped  her  hands  to  her  ears  and 
drew  aside  all  thunderstruck.  The  Somanli 
seized  the  rifle  and  tried  to  wrench  it  from  her 
grasp,  but  Mrs.  D'Arcy  holding  tight,  stuck  to  it 
gallantly.  In  the  scufHe,  one  barrel  went  off 
and  hit  the  Somanli's  foot.  The  man  gave  a 
howl  of  pain,  and  drawing  his  dagger  leapt  upon 
her  like  a  wild  beast,  frenzied  and  maddened  by 


AN  AFRICAN   REVOLUTION.  81 

resistance.  But  even  before  he  could  strike 
home,  Wilfrid,  now  freed  from  his  own  personal 
antagonist,  had  raised  the  rifle  again,  and  taking 
deliberate  aim,  shot  the  negro  through  the  tem- 
ple. Mona  shrieked  once  more  at  the  sight. 
With  a  leap  and  a  groan  the  great,  black  body 
rolled  senseless  upon  the  ground  in  a  little  pool 
of  blood  and  then  lay  still  and  silent.  Wilfrid's 
breath  came  and  went.  He  could  hardly  believe 
it.     It  was  all  over  now. 

"  Thank  heaven,"  he  cried  aloud  in  good  Eng- 
lish at  last,  **  we're  free  !  we're  free  !  We  can 
make  for  the  sea  immediately." 

**How!"  Mona  asked  in  a  burst  of  tears, 
clinging  to  him  in  her  terror.  *'  Must  we  go 
back  by  night  alone  through  all  that  terrible 
desert  ?" 

"  Yes,  dearest,"  Wilfrid  answered,  laying  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  turning  her  gaze 
away  gently  from  the  hideous  sight  on  the 
ground  by  her  side.  "  Come  out  into  the  open. 
There  may  be  camels  there  still.  If  not,  we 
must  turn  and  tramp  on  foot  across  the  desert." 

They  emerged  all  tremulous  on  to  the  silent 
night.  It  was  terrible  to  look  about.  The 
loneliness  was  appalling.  All  round,  two  or 
three  empty  tents  flapped  free  on  the  desert 
breeze.  But  thank  heaven  for  one  thing.  On 
the  bare  sand  of  the  foreground,  four  or  five 


82         A  BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

camels  were  kneeling  still  and  patient,  as  usual 
awaiting  their  riders. 

In  a  minute  Wilfrid  had  lifted  Mona  and  Mrs. 
D'Arcy  into  their  seats,  and  mounting  his  own 
beast  in  front,  led  the  way  into  the  desert. 

It  was  a  terrible  ride  that  impremeditated 
march  from  nowhere  to  nowhere.  Not  a  sound 
broke  the  stillness  of  those  unpeopled  solitudes. 
From  time  to  time  they  spoke  to  one  another — 
a  few  words  of  encouragement,  but  their  own 
voices  seemed  to  affright  them  in  the  universal 
stillness.  There  was  no  regular  path,  no  marked 
track  of  any  sort. 

The  padded  feet  of  camels  leave  not  a  trace 
on  the  bare  rock  ;  and  even  if  they  did  the  whirl- 
ing sandstones  of  the  desert  would  cover  it  up 
and  obliterate  it  from  journey  to  journey.  All 
that  Wilfrid  knew  was  the  general  direction  in 
which  they  had  travelled  the  night  before  ;  for 
the  rest,  he  was  fain  to  trust  to  the  instinct  of 
the  animals. 

Nor  was  that  their  only  misfortune.  They 
had  no  food  to  eat,  except  a  few  coarsely  dried 
dates  which  they  found  in  the  saddle  bags  ;  and 
for  water  they  were  confined  to  the  brackish 
wells  they  had  passed  about  midnight  the  pre- 
vious evening.  But  if  only  they  could  once 
reach  the  sea,  Wilfrid  felt  all  might  yet  be  well. 


AN   AFRICAN   REVOLUTION.  83 

It  was  this  expanse  of  pathless  desert  that  ap- 
palled and  terrified  him. 

After  about  four  hours  hard  riding  through 
the  rocky  ravines  they  had  made  a  considerable 
way,  and  began  to  breathe  freely  again.  The 
camels  relieved  from  the  press  of  Somanlis  and 
their  burden  of  heavy  tents,  trotted  along  at  a 
better  pace  seaward  than  before  ;  they  always 
travel  faster,  Wilfrid  knew,  indeed,  down  coun- 
try than  upward.  At  last,  just  as  they  reached 
a  point  where  two  long  ravines  ran  together 
under  the  uncertain  starlight,  Mona  drew  up  in 
alarm  and  gave  a  little  cry  of  terror. 

"  Hush  !  What's  that  ?"  she  murmured  low, 
holding  her  hand  to  her  listening  ear.  "  Noise 
ahead  I  Who  can  it  be  ?  Oh,  Wilfrid,  Wilfrid, 
somebody's  coming  !"  i 

Wilfrid  pulled  up  his  beast  short  with  a  sud- 
den jerk  of  the  head,  and  listened  long  in  his 
turn.  His  heart  misgave  him.  There  was  in- 
deed a  noise  in  front.  No  mistake  about  that. 
A  caravan  from  seaward  !  They  were  discov- 
ered— overtaken — no  doubt  betrayed.  Perhaps 
the  newcomers  would  maltreat  and  kill  them  ! 

His  first  impulse  at  this  alarm  was  to  turn 
round  again  where  they  stood  and  flee  once 
more  at  the  top  of  the  camels'  speed  towards 
Daro.  But  a  second's  consideration  showed  him 
how  mistaken  and  foolish  such  a  course  would 


84        X   BRIDE  rROM  THE  DESERT. 

be.  Come  what  might,  they  must  stand  by  their 
guns  now  and  see  it  out  fairly.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  this  upward  bound  caravan  might  let  them 
pass  as  good  friends  without  attempting  to  in- 
terfere with  them.  There  is  honor  among 
thieves — above  all,  in  the  desert. 

He  started  his  beast  on  its  round  trot  once 
more,  and  advanced  to  meet  them.  The  two 
other  camels  stalked  after  him  as  before,  with 
their  stately  tread,  making  straight  for  the  sea 
by  the  accustomed  trackway.  In  a  minute  or 
two  they  came  abreast  of  the  coming  caravan. 

Wilfrid  Moyle  was  a  brave  man,  and  not 
given  to  vain  fears  ;  but  there,  in  the  silent 
night  and  amid  the  pathless  desert,  his  heart 
gave  a  strange  jump  at  the  ghastly  sight  that 
met  his  eyes.  Great  Heavens,  what  was  this  ? 
The  foremost  beast  was  bestridden — by  a  laden 
cofifin  !  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked.  Yes, 
yes  ;  not  a  doubt  of  it.  There  was  no  rider, 
no  leader,  no  human  soul  by  its  side  ;  nothing 
on  earth  but  a  camel  bearing  on  either  flank  a 
heavy  coffin  !  He  looked  once  more.  Why  ! 
what  on  earth  could  this  mean  ?  There  was  a 
whole  great  string,  a  long  and  straggling  cara- 
van of  th^m.  Camel  after  camel  in  long  line 
stalked  slowly  by,  each  with  no  living  rider  to 
guide  his  step?  but  bearing  on  his  back  two  full 
and  noisome  coffins.      There  were  corpses  in 


AN   AFRICAN   REVOLUTION.  85 

them,  too.  Indeed,  the  stench  was  horrible. 
But  the  camels  passed  on,  without  heeding  him 
in  any  way  ;  it  was  with  difficulty  in  the  dim 
starlight  that  Wilfrid,  standing  off  as  far  to 
windward  as  possible,  made  out  the  true  nature 
of  their  ghastly  burden.  At  the  end  of  the  long 
procession,  but  after  a  considerable  interval,  so 
as  to  avoid  all  near  contact  with  the  pestilential 
air,  two  Arabs  in  white  robes  rode  slowly  be- 
hind, bringing  up  the  rear  guard,  and  watching 
the  beasts  move  forward. 

"  Bismillah,"  they  cried  as  they  passed,  a  little 
way  on  one  side,  to  the  three  strangers.  *'  In 
Allah's  name,  a  good  journey  to  you,  brother  !" 

"  In  Allah's  name,  the  same  to  you,"  Wilfrid 
answered  in  Arabic,  as  the  safest  course  open 
to  him.  Then  his  natural  curiosity  compelled 
him  to  add  in  an  easier  voice.  "  But  what  cara- 
van is  this,  and  where  do  you  come  last  from  1" 

*'  Have  you  no  nose  on  your  face  that  you 
haven't  found  that  out  already  ?"  the  man  an- 
swered laughing.  "  I  should  hav^e  thought  you 
might  have  guessed  it.  This  is  the  Caravan  of 
the  Dead,  and  we  take  them  up  in  their  coffins 
to  Daro  for  burial.  But  perhaps  you  are  from  the 
Soudan,  new  comers  to  these  parts,  and  know 
not  the  ways  of  the  coast-wise  people.  It  is  our 
custom  here,  then,  when  sheikhs  or  holy  imams 
or  great  robbers  die,  to  send  their  bodies  up  for 


86  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE  DESERT. 

burial  to  the  threshold  of  the  seers,  that  they 
may  sleep  in  holy  ground,  beside  the  tomb  of 
Sidi  Okbah,  the  companion  of  the  Prophet  who 
lies  enshrined  under  the  dome  of  the  high 
mosque  at  Daro.  For  that  purpose,  we  carry  them 
up  from  all  the  Somanli  coast.  We  have  been 
ten  days  on  the  way  already  as  you  may  per- 
ceive for  yourselves.  And  you,  strangers,  in 
turn,  whither  bound  ?    Where  go  you  ?" 

*'  To  Matafu,"  Wilfrid  answered  boldly.  *'  We 
come  from  Daro  itself,  and  we  take  down  im- 
portant letters  to  the  coast  from  the  Imam  to  the 
dervishes.  But  we  have  missed  our  path. 
Which  is  the  road  to  Matafu  ?" 

"  Down  the  ravine  to  the  left,"  the  man  an- 
swered pointing  vaguely  with  his  hand.  "  But 
friend,  you  are  full  late  ;  you  may  spare  your- 
self the  trouble.  For  two  days  since,  so  we  hear, 
the  infidels  attacked  Matafu  and  burned  it  to 
the  ground,  nor  is  there  any  living  soul  of  the 
Faithful  of  Islam  now  left  within  it." 

"  Thanks,  brother,"  Wilfrid  answered  touch- 
ing his  beard  in  salute,  and  setting  his  camel  in 
motion  again.  "  But  I  will  proceed  for  all  that. 
For  my  business  is  pressing,  and  with  Allah's 
help  I  fear  not  the  infidels.  The  commands  of 
the  Imam  must  needs  be  obeyed,  whether  the 
miserable  Franks  have  burned  Matafu  or  left  it 


AN    AFRICAN    REVOLUTION.  8? 

Standing.  Yet  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy. 
Bismillah !" 

"  Bismillah  !" 

And  the  two  men  moved  on  slowly  in  charge 
of  their  ghastly  load,  leaving  those  three  once 
more  by  themselves  in  the  wide  loneliness  of 
the  desert. 


88  A   BRIDE  FROM  THE  DESERT. 


CHAPTER  Vir. 

FROM    SAND    TO   SEA. 

From  the  wells  of  Belad-yssa  to  the  bowers  of 
the  Indian  Ocean,  the  camels  made  good  time 
for  their  distracted  riders.  It's  the  way  of 
camels  indeed  to  quicken  their  slow  and  steady 
pace  in  proportion  as  the}^  approach  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  sea  ;  some  vague  instinct  of 
locality,  perhaps  even  some  faint  odor  of  salt 
brine  in  the  air,  seems  to  act  upon  their  nerves 
as  the  road  homeward  acts  upon  a  tired  horse  in 
England.  At  any  rate,  they  stepped  out  far 
more  briskly  on  their  seaward  journey  than  on 
the  way  up  country  towards  the  oasis  of  Daro. 
And  the  fugitives  let  them  pick  their  own  path 
as  they  would  among  the  barren  ravines.  It 
was  wonderful  to  see  how  cleverly  those  born 
denizens  of  the  desert  seemed  to  follow  of  them- 
selves that  well-known  route.  Winding  tortu- 
ously in  and  out,  bending  here  to  the  right  and 
there  to  the  left,  avoiding  now  a  great  rock,  and 
now  again  a  steep  descent,  the  sagacious  beasts 
plodded  patiently  on,  at  a  long,  swinging,  jog- 


FROM   SAND   TO    SEA.  89 

trot,  very  wearying  to  their  riders'  limbs,  of 
course,  but  satisfactory  from  the  point  of  view 
of  rapid  transit.  One  by  one  the  stars  set,  and 
Venus  began  to  rise  in  the  pale  grey  of  morning. 
But  still  those  tireless  brutes  lifted  one  leg  after 
another  in  their  unwearying  amble  ;  and  still 
the  travelers  looked  out  eagerly,  but  in  vain,  all 
in  vain,  for  a  glimpse  of  blue  sea  on  the  horizon 
in  front  of  them. 

At  last,  the  sun  rose,  and  the  air  grew  hot  at 
once  with  the  astonishing  rapidly  of  arid  tropical 
regions.  "Must  we  go  right  on  through  the 
heat  ?"  Mona  asked  in  despair,  jolted  to  death 
with  the  long  ride,  and  hardly  able  any  longer 
to  keep  her  seat  on  her  camel. 

And  Wilfrid  answered  with  a  sigh,  "  I'm 
afraid  we  must,  Mona.  Indeed,  I  don't  suppose 
we  could  get  the  camels  themselves  to  stop  for 
us  now.  They're  obstinate  beasts  to  deal  with, 
and  once  they've  made  up  their  minds  to  make 
straight  for  a  given  point,  straight  for  it  they'll 
make,  whether  you  wish  them  or  check  them. 
They've  settled  in  their  own  wise  heads  that 
they're  going  seaward  now,  and  they'll  never 
stop,  either  for  you  or  for  me,  till  they've  pulled 
us  up  short  at  their  accustomed  station.  Besides, 
even  if  we  were  to  dismount,  what  good  would 
that  possibly  do  us  ?  We've  no  tent  or  shelter, 
and  it's  better  to  be  moving  briskly  through  the 


90  A   BRIDE    FROM   THE   DESERT. 

air  like  this  than  to  sit  in  the  eye  of  the  sun  on 
the  basking  hot  desert." 

"  I'm  dying  with  thirst,"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  said 
huskily,  clearing  her  throat.  "  I  can  hardly  even 
speak.  But  if  we're  to  die  here,  ve  shall  at 
least  die  free.  I'm  glad  I  could  help  you,  Mr. 
Moyle,  in  getting  us  clear  away  from  those  dis- 
gusting wretches." 

They  rode  on  for  an  hour  more  without  speak- 
ing a  word  across  the  dreary  upland.  At  last, 
about  eight  o'clock,  they  reached  a  black  and 
gloomy  pass  or  neck  over  a  ridge  of  grey  rock, 
whence  they  looked  down  abruptly  on  a  great 
desert  valley.  At  its  end,  a  narrow  gap  opened 
out  like  a  fan,  with — oh,  joy  ! — yes,  it  was — a 
blue  gleam  in  the  centre.  Wilfrid,  leading  the 
way,  reached  the  summit  first.  With  an  effort, 
he  moistened  his  mouth,  and  found  words  to  cry 
aloud.  *'  The  sea  !  The  sea  !"  he  exclaimed  in 
his  delight.  And  the  two  women  burst  at  once 
into  floods  of  hot  tears  at  that  welcome  dis- 
covery. 

Yet  even  so,  it  was  a  long  and  weary  ride 
down  that  dry,  desert  ravine,  and  through  those 
endless  mazes  to  the  dim  shore  in  front  of  them. 
Every  now  and  again  the  camels  craned  their 
heads  and  sniffed  the  air  suspiciously.  Perhaps 
they  scented  the  salt  breeze  ;  perhaps,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  missed  the  accustomed  odor  of 


FROM   SAND  TO   SEA.  \)l 

the  village  of  Matafu  ;  perhaps  their  keen  nos- 
trils even  detected  afar  off  the  signs  of  recent 
burning  by  their  wonted  station.  But  at  any 
rate,  they  grew  uneasy  and  seemed  to  doubt 
their  right  way.  Once  or  twice  they  stopped 
short,  and  sniffed  time  and  again  in  distinct  un- 
certainty. Then  the  sight  of  some  familiar  rock 
or  some  sharp  bend  in  the  gorge  seemed  to  re- 
assure their  vague  minds,  and  they  stepped  for- 
ward once  more  with  accelerated  eagerness. 

At  last,  all  of  a  sudden,  a  little  twist  in  the 
path  brought  them  out  with  a  rush  upon  the 
open  coast.  Before  them  lay  the  sea,  tossing 
blue  and  illimitable  ;  in  front  stood  the  still 
smoking  and  smouldering  ruins  of  what  three 
days  before  had  been  the  village  of  Matafu. 

And  now,  a  new  terror  began  to  seize  upon 
Wilfrid's  soul.  The  camels  pulled  up  short, 
and  gazed  with  a  certain  blank  surprise  at  the 
unexpected  scene.  After  a  moment's  pause 
they  knelt  down  on  the  sands  in  a  kind  of  mute 
despair.  Wilfrid  helped  the  two  women  to  de- 
scend from  their  seats.  They  were  shaken  and 
sore  and  almost  faint  from  riding.  But  their 
worst  enemy  now  was  a  parching  demon  of 
thirst ;  they  had  drunk  nothing  for  two  days 
save  the  brackish  water  at  the  wells  of  Belad- 
yssa. 

"The  question   is,"  Wilfrid  mused,  **can  we 


92  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

get  anything  here  to  eat  or  to  drink.  And  then 
next,  can  we  get  a  boat  to  put  away  to  sea 
in?" 

Mrs.  D'Arcy  was  nothmg  if  not  a  practical 
English  matron  with  an  eye  to  housekeeping. 

**  Not  a  scrap  to  eat,"  she  said  with  an  effort, 
in  a  very  choked  voice.  "  That's  all  burnt,  of 
course.  We  must  live  on  our  own  fat.  But 
water,  yes.  How  could  they  do  without  it  ? 
Wherever  there's  been  a  village,  there  must 
naturally  be  wells,  or  springs,  or  tanks,  or  some- 
thing." 

That  was  as  clear  as  wind.  The  British  ma- 
tron was  certainly  right.  Wilfred  seated  Mona 
on  a  rock,  in  the  scanty  shade  of  a  palm  tree,  for 
they  had  now  returned  to  some  scrubby  vegeta- 
tion, and  went  off  by  himself  in  search  of  the 
water  supply.  He  was  gone  for  several  minutes, 
during  which  the  two  women  sat  alone  by  them- 
selves in  that  unspeakable  desolation  of  the 
ruined  village.  Corpses  rotted  in  the  sun  in 
every  direction.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
returned  with  a  firmer  tread  ;  and  their  hearts 
leapt  up  within  them  to  see  to  their  joy  that  he 
was  carrying  in  his  hands  a  bucket  half  full  of 
water. 

Oh,  how  they  fell  upon  it  and  drank,  scooping 
it  up  in  both  hands  !  Oh,  how  delicious  it  tasted, 
that  pure,  fresh,  spring  water  !    The  camels  rose 


FROM   SAND  TO   SEA.  93 

slowly,  and  begged  in  mute  language  for  their 
share  in  the  draught.  Wilfrid  motioned  them 
on,  and  the  weary  beasts  followed  him  to  the 
edge  of  the  well.  There,  he  drew  for  them 
abundantly,  and  let  them  drink  their  fill,  which 
amounted  to  a  quantity  that  might  well  have 
astonished  anyone  less  used  to  their  ways  than 
the  young  soldier  had  been  at  Aden. 

And  now  to  get  away,  since  food  was  out  of 
the  question.  It  was  a  hopeless  lookout  ;  yet 
miracles  had  answered  their  turn  so  well  hitherto 
that  he  was  almost  disposed  once  more  to  trust 
for  a  means  of  escape  to  some  inscrutable  inter- 
position of  providence. 

In  an  aimless  fashion,  if  only  to  avoid  the  foul 
air,  they  made  their  way  down  to  the  beach,  over 
the  high  bank  of  shingle.  There  might  be  mus- 
sels there,  or  periwinkles,  or  some  other  shell- 
fish. At  any  rate,  one's  chance  of  food  is  always 
best  on  the  sea  shore,  especially  in  these  out-of- 
the-way  unpeopled  countries,  where  even  oysters 
and  fish  are  often  to  be  found  in  plenty  in  the 
tide-swept  rock  pools.  For  there  was  no  con- 
cealing the  fact  that  free  or  enslaved,  they  were 
certainly  weak  and  faint  with  hunger. 

At  the  top  of  the  shingle  ledge,  a  welcome 
sight  burst  unexpectedly  on  their  startled  eyes. 
For  there,  full  in  front  of  them,  beached  high 
on  the  shore,  lay  an  English  built  boat,  with  her 


04:  A   BRIDE   FROM  TFIE   DESERT. 

oars  by  her  side,  and  on  her  stern  were  painted 
the  familiar  words,  "  Lord  Mayo,  Southampton." 

It  was  the  second  of  the  three  boats  that  had 
put  off  from  the  wreck  on  the  night  of  the  mas- 
sacre. One  had  gone  away  with  news  of  the  dis- 
aster to  Aden.  One  had  been  seized  by  the 
wreckers  under  Hadji  Daood  of  Nejd,  and  finally 
towed  in  to  port  by  the  victorious  captain.  But 
one,  the  second  to  land,  had  been  left  there,  high 
and  dry  on  the  beach  by  the  natives,  and  was 
overlooked  by  the  gunboat,  which  put  her  men 
ashore  on  a  less  exposed  spot  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  village.  It  seemed  as  though  Provi- 
dence had  designed  it  on  purpose  for  their  use. 
And  there,  in  the  stern,  best  luck  of  all — as  they 
looked — was  a  barrel  of  fresh  water,  still  full  and 
undrawn  from. 

"  We'd  better  lose  no  time,"  Wilfrid  cried,  in  a 
burst  of  delight.  "  We  don't  know  how  soon 
some  other  Somanlis  may  come  up  from  neigh- 
boring parts  to  rebuild  the  village.  To  be 
caught  here  would  be  death.  There's  nothing 
about  to  eat.  It's  clear  the  gunboat  destroyed 
everything — standing  crops  and  fruit  trees.  We 
must  put  to  sea  just  as  we  are,  and  trust  to  the 
bare  chance  of  making  Aden,  or  attracting  the 
attention  of  some  ship  going  up  the  Straits  for 
Suez. 

And  indeed,  in  that  narrower  channel,  on  the 


FROM   SAND   TO   SEA.  95 

highway  of  commerce  between  India  and  Eng- 
land by  the  great  canal,  the  possibility  of  such  a 
rescue  seemed  by  no  means  a  remote  one.  And 
yet,  to  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 
and  know  its  dangers  well,  the  bare  idea  of  put- 
ting out  in  an  open  boat  without  a  morsel  of 
food,  on  such  a  frail  hope  of  speaking  a  passing 
vessel,  might  indeed  appear  a  desperate  one. 
But  drowning  men  will  cling  to  a  straw  ;  and  at 
the  very  worst,  Wilfrid  thought,  if  they  had  to 
die  at  all,  he  would  die  with  Mona  by  his  side, 
after  rescuing  her  from  a  life  far  more  terrible 
than  death.  Far  better  starvation  on  the  free 
blue  sea  than  the  tender  mercies  of  an  Imam  of 
Daro. 

They  hauled  the  boat  down  to  the  water's 
edge  with  what  strength  they  had  left,  and  took 
their  seats  in  it.  Then  Wilfrid  shoved  it  off 
with  a  good  hearty  push.  Thank  Heaven  ! 
They  were  afloat  again,  and  free  at  last  from 
the  hateful  soil  of  darkest  Africa  ! 

A  gentle  wind  was  blowing  faintly  from  the 
south  east.  That  would  take  them  more  or  less 
in  the  direction  of  Aden,  or  at  any  rate  into  the 
centre  of  the  main  stream  of  traffic.  Wilfrid 
was  unfortunately  no  navigator,  so  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  set  the  full  sails  lest  she  should 
become  unmanageable  or  capsize.  But  he  hoisted 
the  mast,  with  Mrs.  D'Arcy's  aid,  and  stretched 


96         A  BRIDK  FROM  THE  DESERT. 

from  it  the  main  canvas,  fastened  square  like  a 
sheet  to  go  ahead  before  the  wind,  which  was  as 
much  as  his  knowledge  of  seamanship  would  al- 
low him  to  venture  upon.  The  rudder  must  do 
the  rest.  And,  indeed,  they  were  too  tired,  too 
sleepy,  and  too  hungry,  to  attempt  much  more 
than  sitting  still  or  lying  back  wearily. 

As  for  Mona,  she  fell  asleep  on  her  seat  in 
the  stern.  Mrs.  D'Arcy  kept  awake.  And  Wil- 
frid held  the  tiller,  making  straight  out  to  sea, 
with  the  sun  and  the  hour  alone  to  guide  him. 
Fortunately,  he  had  wound  up  his  watch  even  in 
the  manifold  dangers  of  those  awful  days.  He 
was  glad  of  that  now,  for  it  was  his  only  com- 
pass. 

All  day  long,  they  sailed  slowly,  slowly,  over 
that  basking  hot  sea.  How  easy  it  is  to  say  ; 
how  long,  how  terribly  long  it  takes  to  pass 
through  !  All  day  long,  too,  no  food  ;  but  they 
took  it  out  in  drinking  ;  and  indeed,  after  the 
desert,  such  abundance  of  pure  water  seemed  in 
itself  a  luxury.  Hour  after  hour  went  by,  and 
still  they  drifted  on,  under  that  copper  sky,  and 
with  that  red-hot  sun  beating  mercilessly  down 
upon  them.  All  day  long  they  drifted  on,  to- 
wards the  Straits  of  Bab-el-Mandeb.  Surely, 
sooner  or  later,  they  must  sight  a  passing  brig  ; 
surely  they  must  run  up  against  some.P.  and  O. 
steamer  ! 


FEOM   SAND  TO   SEA.  97 

But  all  day  long,  not  a  sail,  not  a  hull  hove  in 
sight.  All  day  long,  not  a  line  of  black  smoke 
flecked  the  dim  blue  horizon. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  wearily  away,  and 
still  Wilfrid  Moyle  hoped  on  against  hope.  At 
last,  the  sun  set  red  in  the  dark  sea  westward, 
and  the  water  grew  black,  and  all  was  dim 
around  them. 

"  We  ought  to  have  had  a  light,"  Wilfrid  said, 
with  a  sigh,  "  to  attract  the  attention  of  any 
passing  vessel." 

He  began  to  realize  now,  after  some  hours' 
sail,  how  slender  was  that  hope  ;  but,  such  as  it 
was,  it  was  all  they  had  left  to  depend  upon. 

"  There's  a  lamp  at  the  bow,"  Mona  put  in, 
looking  up  at  him  suddenly.  **  I  noticed  it  just 
now,  and  perhaps  there  may  be  oil  in  it.  Most 
likely  there  is.  For  sailors  always  keep  every- 
thing ready  for  use  at  once,  in  apple-pie  order." 

She  stepped  forward  lightly,  and  seized  the 
lamp,  and  shook  it. 

"  Yes,  two  of  them,"  she  exclaimed,  "  and  both 
ready  trimmed.  They're  as  full  as  they  can 
hold.  If  only  we'd  a  match,  now,  we  might 
have  managed  a  light.  It's  so  dreadful  to  be  in 
the  dark,  all  alone  upon  the  water." 

"  If  a  match  is  all  you  want,"  Wilfrid  said, 
brightening  up,  "  I  think  I  can  help  you.  Shows 
the  use  of  smoking  after  all,  you  see,  Mona. 


98  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

You  remember  you  used  always  to  be  preach- 
ing to  me  against  it." 

He  drew  out  his  box. 

*'  By  Jove,"  he  murmured,  opening  it,  with  a 
very  blank  face,  "this  is  rather  serious.  I've 
only  one  left.  If  that  misses  fire,  or  goes  out, 
we'll  be  as  ill  off  as  ever." 

*' Let  w<?  light  it,"  Mona  said,  *'I've  a  very 
sure  hand,"  and  with  that  she  opened  the  lamp, 
and  held  the  match-box  close  down  under  the 
shelter  of  the  cover. 

There  was  a  moment's  suspense  as  she  struck 
it.  Then  the  match  flared  up  bright.  Mona 
held  it  to  the  wick.  Thank  heaven,  it  jumped 
at  it !  It  was  now  quite  dark,  save  for  the  light 
from  the  lamp,  and  they  went  on  for  a  minute 
or  two  in  the  despondent  silence  of  hunger  and 
fatigue.  Suddenly,  a  curious  noise  burst  upon 
them  like  a  flash.  Something  hard  struck  the 
sail — like  a  bullet  or  an  arrow.  The  whiz  and 
the  concussion  were  stunning  in  their  rapidity. 
Mona  clapped  her  hands  to  her  ears  in  alarm 
once  more.  "  What's  that .?"  she  cried,  aghast. 
"  Have  they  followed  ?    Are  they  firing  at  us  ?" 

Wilfrid  rose  in  his  place,  uncertain  what  to 
answer,  and  took  up  something  curiously  in  his 
hand  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Then  a  cry 
of  joy  and  triumph  burst  spontaneously  from  his 
lips. 


FKOM  SAND  TO  8EA.  9d 

"  Food !  food  !"  he  exclaimed,  overjoyed. 
"  Fish  !  fish  !     We  shall  have  lots  of  it !" 

"  Why,  what  is  it  ?"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  asked,  look- 
ing forward  all  eagerness. 

Wilfrid  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  might  have  thought  of  it  before,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  knew  this  so  well.  They  catch 
them  so  at  Aden.  Why,  it's  a  flying  fish,  and 
it's  attracted  by  the  light.  The  fishermen 
along  the  coast  burn  a  torch  in  their  bows,  of 
wood  steeped  in  petroleum,  and  the  fish  jump 
up  at  it,  like  moths  at  a  candle.  We  shall  have 
dozens  before  morning.  This  sea  simply  swarms 
with  them." 

"  But  we  can't  eat  it  raw,"  Mona  cried,  all 
aghast,  drawing  back  at  the  bare  idea,  even  in 
her  deadly  hunger. 

"  Well,  no  !"  Wilfrid  answered  more  coolly. 
"  Though  we  might,  too,  if  we  tried.  Better 
that  than  to  starve.  But  as  it  happens,  we 
needn't.  We  can  cook  it  over  the  lamp  in  the 
little  tin  cup  they  keep  in  the  locker  for  bailing 
out  the  boat  with." 

And  even  as  he  spoke,  another  hard  object 
hit  the  mast  full  pelt,  and  another  flying  fish 
fell,  maimed  and  bleeding,  an  easy  prey  for  their 
use  on  the  boat's  bottom. 


100  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE  DESERT. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BOAT    AHOY,    THERE  ! 

All  night  long  the  flying  fish,  attracted  by 
the  lamp  like  moths  by  a  candle,  kept  falling 
thick  into  the  boat  ;  and  all  night  long  the 
weary  fugitives  baked  and  ate  them,  till  their 
hunger  was  satisfied.  More  fish  flew  in,  indeed, 
tli::n  they  could  possibly  eat,  and  they  put  sev- 
eral away  at  last  in  the  locker  for  future  use, 
rather  than  be  troubled  any  further  with  them 
lying  about  on  the  bottom.  Hour  after  hour, 
they  dozed  and  watched  by  turns  ;  and  in  that 
balmy  air,  sleep  came  very  easy  to  them.  Com- 
pared with  the  desert,  indeed,  this  was  luxury 
itself.  They  had  food,  and  drink,  and  cool  air 
all  around  them. 

With  the  early  morning,  a  fresh  breeze  sprang 
up  from  the  north.  Little  chopping  waves  be- 
gan to  obstruct  their  progress.  But  they  were 
in  mid  channel  now,  and  might  begin  to  feel 
some  hopes  of  passing  vessels. 

*•  What's  that    speck    over    yonder  ?"   Mona 


BOAT  AHOY,   THERE  !  101 

asked  at  last,  pointing  one  pale  white  hand 
away  to  the  horizon. 

Wilfrid  strained  his  eyes  to  look,  but  could 
make  out  nothing  definite.  He  had  steered  their 
course  through  the  night  as  well  as  he  could 
guess  to  the  northwest  by  north,  by  the  pole  star 
and  the  southern  cross,  and  he  fancied  now  they 
must  have  made  the  best  part  of  thirty  miles 
from  Africa.  But  a  terrible  idea  broke  over  him 
all  at  once.  The  direction  in  which  Mona 
pointed  was  the  direction  of  Matafu.  If  any  sail 
came  thence,  it  must  be  either  a  pursuing  boat, 
or  else  an  Arab  dhow,  engaged  in  the  contra- 
band slave-trade. 

*'  Are  you  sure  you  see  anything  ?"  he  asked, 
peering  out  under  his  hand.  "  I've  got  pretty 
good  eyes,  my  child,  but  I  can't  make  it  out  any- 
where." 

**  Oh  !  yes,"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  interposed,  "  Mona's 
right,  I'm  sure.  It's  a  most  undoubted  sail.  A 
very  tiny  speck,  but  I  can  see  it  distinctly." 

For  a  minute  or  two  Wilfrid  looked,  and  still 
failed  to  perceive  the  faintest  sign  of  the  sup- 
posed vessel.  Then  all  at  once  his  eyes  made  it 
out — yes,  yes,  there  it  was  a  small  dark  mass  on 
the  horizon  to  southeastward. 

•*  Shall  we  turn  round  and  make  for  it '"  Mona 
asked  with  a  beating  heart.     *'  Or  is  it  coming 


102  A   BRIDE   FROM   THE   DESERT. 

this  way,  and  should  we  wait  where  we  are,  and 
try  to  attract  its  attention  ?" 

Wilfrid  hesitated  for  a  moment.  They  had 
come  so  far  safe  from  the  shores  of  Africa,  and 
so  far  out  into  the  main  stream  of  Anglo-Indian 
traffic,  that  he  was  loth  to  turn  back  again,  in 
case  of  accident.  And  if  it  were  really  a  slave- 
dhow,  why  run  headlong  right  into  it  ? 

"  I  don't  feel  quite  sure,"  he  said,  looking 
anxiously  around  him  on  every  side  and  now  in- 
ured to  dangers.  *'  Better  stay  where  we  are, 
perhaps,  and  make  certain  first  as  to  her  course 
and  her  intentions." 

Slowly  the  dark  speck  grew  clearer  and  clearer 
till  it  loomed  up,  a  visible  hull,  against  the 
southern  sky-line.  She  was  a  sailing  vessel  he 
saw  now,  and  heading  straight,  as  he  guessed, 
from  Cape  Guardafui  to  Aden.  His  heart  stood 
still  at  the  sight.  Were  they  missed  then,  and 
pursued  ?  Had  the  Arabs  discovered  the  dead 
bodies  of  their  companions  in  the  deserted 
camp,  and  made  haste  to  put  forth  a  clumsy 
dhow  to  take  vengeance  ? 

The  ship  came  slowly  forward,  as  if  making 
straight  for  them.  Wilfrid  felt  sure  they  were 
perceived,  and  that  she  was  bearing  down  upon 
them  on  purpose.  He  made  no  signs  of  distress  . 
he  was  too  uncertain  of  her  errand  to  attract  her 
attention.     Only  one  thing  he  saw  clearly  as  she 


BOAT  AHOY,   THERE  I  103 

drew  nearer  and  nearer.  She  was  indeed  a 
dhow,  Arab  built  and  Arab  rigged,  with  the  re- 
gular clumsy  but  quick  sailing  cut  of  the  trade- 
built  slaver. 

Had  they  only  just  escaped,  then,  from  the 
Imam  of  Daro,  to  fall  straightway  into  the 
clutches  of  the  Sultan  of  Muscat  or  the  petty 
robber  chiefs  of  Southeastern  Arabia  ? 

On  and  on  the  dhow  sailed,  straight  down  on 
them  she  bore.  Escape  was  impossible.  As  she 
drew  almost  within  hailing  distance,  Mona 
looked  suddenly  up  with  a  visible  start  of  de- 
light. 

"  Why,  she's  flying  British  colors,"  the  poor 
child  cried  aloud.  '*  We're  saved!  We're 
saved  !  Don't  you  see,  Wilfrid — Mrs.  D'Arcy — 
just  look  up  there — look  up — the  dear  old  Union 
Jack  flying  free  at  the  masthead  !" 

But  even  the  sight  of  his  country's  flag  didn't 
fully  reassure  Wilfrid  Moyle,  under  these  doubt- 
ful circumstances.  He  shook  his  head  incredu- 
lously. 

"  No,  no,  my  child,"  he  said,  with  a  bitter 
little  smile.  "  That's  only  a  ruse,  I'm  sure. 
She  wants  to  take  us  in.  More  dangers  ahead. 
She's  a  piratical  slave-dhow.  I  know  the  cut 
and  rig  of  those  vile  craft  so  well.  I've  seen 
dozens  of  them  towed  in  as  prizes  to  Aden.** 

The  clumsy  looking  brig    approached    well 


104  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE  DESERT. 

within  speaking  distance.  Then  suddenly  it 
hove  a  little  to  one  side,  and  stood  to  for  hail- 
ing. A  cheery  voice  called  aloud  from  the 
fo'k'sle  : 

"  What,  ho  !"  it  cried  out  in  very  sailor-like 
English.     "  Boat  ahoy  !     Boat  ahoy,  there  !" 

Wilfrid  Moyle  put  his  hands  together  and 
shouted  in  return,  in  a  somewhat  trembling 
voice  : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?    Who  are  you  ?" 

The  answer  rang  back  sharp  and  clear,  in  a 
true  English  tone  : 

*'  Captured  Arab  slave-dhow,  manned  by  offi- 
cers and  men  of  H.  M.  S.jVigilant.  We  thought 
you  were  in  distress — one  of  the  boats  from  a 
wreck — and  so  we  came  out  of  our  course  a  bit, 
and  bore  down  upon  you  to  see  if  you  needed 
assistance." 

In  the  wild  joy  of  the  moment,  without  think- 
ing what  he  did,  Wilfrid  flung  himself  first  upon 
Mona's  neck,  and  then  on  Mrs.  D'Arcy's. 

**  Saved!  saved!"  he  cried  aloud  in  his  first 
transport  of  delight.  *'  They're  English  ! 
They're  English  !  We  shall  get  back  again  to 
Aden." 

The  men  on  the  dhow  put  down  a  boat  to  tow 
them.  In  ten  minutes'  time  they  were  along- 
side, and  being  hauled  gently  on  deck.  There, 
a  crowd  of  kindly  faces  surrounded  the  ladies  at 


BOAT   AHOY,   THERE  !  105 

once,  in  their  torn  and  dust-encumbered  Arab 
dress,  with  friendly  offers  of  assistance.  It  was 
some  time  before  the  poor  fugitives  could  real- 
ize their  troubles  were  really  well  over  at  last, 
and  that  twenty -four  hours  more  would  see  them 
safe  in  British  territory. 

As  the  dhow  entered  the  great,  frowning,  vol- 
canic mouth,  next  day,  and  news  spread  through 
the  lazy  port  that  the  missing  soldier  was  on 
board,  with  two  rescued  English  ladies,  a  ring- 
ing cheer  went  up  on  every  side  with  deafening 
applause,  from  every  sloop  and  steamer  in  the 
crowded  harbor.  The  formalities  of  entering 
port  delayed  them  for  some  short  time,  and 
meanwhile,  the  strange  tidings  of  their  miracu- 
lous escape  ran  like  wildfire  through  the  station, 
the  town,  the  garrison.  As  they  landed  on  the 
shore,  dozens  of  Wilfrid's  comrades  pressed 
eagerly  round  to  grasp  his  hand  once  more — 
good,  honest  Tommy  Atkinses,  who  liked  their 
brave  companion  in  arms  none  the  less  for  his 
being,  as  they  themselves  expressed  it,  "  a  come- 
down gentleman." 

*'  Hullo,  Moyle,"  one  of  them  shouted  from  a 
high  perch  in  the  background,  "  we  knew  all  the 
time  we'd  see  you  safe  back  again.  But  we 
didn't  quite  count  on  you  bringing  back  in  your 
knapsack  a  bride  from  the  desert.  One  of  'em's 
married  already,  I'm  told  ;    so  you   can't  have 


106  A   BRIDE   FROM  THE   DESERT. 

her  ;  but  the  other  one  won't  be  worth  her  salt, 
that's  what  all  of  us  says,  if  she  doesn't  marry 
you  !" 

On  the  Hard,  the  commandant  himself  was 
waiting  to  receive  them  and  pour  forth  congratu- 
lations. "  What,  Mrs.  D'Arcy  !"  he  cried,  as  he 
took  her  hand  warmly.  "  Why,  we  haven't  met 
before  since  I  saw  you  in  India.  You're  saved 
after  all,  thanks  to  this  brave  fellow,  Moyle  ! 
That's  well  !  That's  well  !  And  your  friend 
too !  Miss  Wallace  !  Well,  my  wife  of  course 
expects  to  give  you  both  shelter  in  our  quarters 
for  the  present.  After  all  you've  gone  through, 
you'll  need  to  recover  a  bit  no  doubt  before  you 
feel  yourselves  in  a  fit  state  for  going  on  home 
to  England." 

"  Thank  you,  colonel,"  Mrs.  D'Arcy  answered, 
glancing  down  with  a  doubtful  look  at  her 
strange  costume.  "  We're  shaken,  of  course  ; 
though  less  ill  than  you'd  imagine.  But  I  won't 
deny  we'll  be  glad  to  be  taken  in  for  awhile  and 
get  on  civilized  clothes  again.  I  hardly  feel  like 
myself,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  in  all  these  dirty, 
close-fitting  Arab  wrappings." 

For  so  strange  a  thing  is  civilization  that  Mrs. 
D'Arcy,  who'd  behaved  like  a  heroine  all  the 
time  up  till  then,  while  the  necessity  was  upon 
her,  now  suddenly  woke  up  to  an  awkward  con- 
sciousness of  the  fact — being  after  all  a  woman 


BOAT    AHOY,    THERE  !  107 

— that  she  looked  anything  but  handsome  for 
European  life  in  such  ill-fitting  garments.  Wil- 
frid seized  Mona's  hand.  "  Well,  good-bye, 
dear/*  he  said,  tenderly,  in  a  very  low  voice,  after 
the  first  five  minutes.  "  I  may  see  you  again 
soon,  perhaps,  but  I  can't  stop  just  now.  I  must 
go  for  the  present." 

Mona  clung  to  him,  all  amazed.  *'  Go,  Wil- 
frid ?"  she  repeated,  in  a  very  puzzled  voice. 
.  "  Go  ?  go  where  ?  I  thought  ...  we  should 
never  again  be  parted  from  one  another." 

"  Go  to  report  myself  at  barracks,"  Wilfrid  an- 
swered in  a  low  tone,  as  calmly  as  he  could. 
"  You  forget  who  I  am,  dear.  In  the  desert  and 
on  the  boat  I  was  a  gentleman  and  a  com- 
mander. Here  at  Aden,  you  know,  I'm  only  a 
common  soldier." 

He  drew  away  his  hand,  in  spite  of  Mona's  re- 
sistance. "  Let  him  go,"  the  commandant  inter- 
posed, with  a  knowing  little  smile.  "  Let  him 
go.  Miss  Wallace.  He's  quite  right,  of  course. 
Discipline's  discipline.  He  must  report  himself 
returned.  We  haven't  got  a  better  behaved  pri- 
vate in  garrison  than  Wilfrid  Moyle,  though  he 
was  born  a  gentleman.  And  I've  no  doubt  you'll 
have  opportunities  afforded  you  in  due  time  of 
seeing  something  more  of  him  before  you  leave 
Aden." 

That  afternoon  and  evening,  the  commandant 


108  A   BRIDE    FROM   THE   DESERT. 

heard  at  full  Wilfrid's  story  of  the  rescue,  con- 
firmed in  every  particular  by  Mrs.  D'Arcy's  and 
Mona's.  It  was  noticed  in  the  garrison,  too,  that 
the  adjutant  was  sent  to  dispatch  that  day  to 
England  an  unusual  number  of  very  lengthy 
telegrams.  Now,  telegraph  clerks,  we  all  know, 
are  as  silent  as  the  grave  ;  and  the  sanctity  of 
dispatches  is  absolutely  inviolable.  Still  it  did 
somehow  leak  out  and  get  noised  abroad  in 
Aden  that  very  evening  that  the  commandant 
had  forwarded  a  specially  full  report  of  the  oc- 
currence to  the  War  Office,  and  that  he  had 
spoken  most  highly  of  Private  Movie's  zeal  and 
valor  and  discretion  under  extremely  difficult 
and  trying  circumstances. 

About  twelve  o'clock  next  day,  a  telegram 
arrived  at  Aden  from  England  which  was  not 
private,  and  which  soon  ran  the  rounds  of  the 
gossipy  little  station.  "  Everybody  in  London," 
it  said — 'twas  a  Reuter's  dispatch — "  is  full  of 
Mrs.  D'Arcy's  and  Miss  Wallace's  escape  ;  while 
Private  Moyle's  gallant  conduct  in  securing  their 
retreat  is  universally  praised  in  all  the  morning 
papers.  Since  Chard  and  Bromhead  defended 
Rorke's  Drift  with  a  stockade  of  mealie  bags,  no 
military  event  of  a  personal  sort  has  roused  so 
much  enthusiasm  and  admiration  in  England. 
It  is  the  general  opinion  that  Moyle  should  re- 
ceive the  Victoria  Cross,  and  that  some  official 


BOAT   AHOY,   THERE  !  109 

recognition  should  at  once  be  made  of  the  two 
ladies'  bravery." 

In  the  course  of  that  afternoon,  while  the 
jyuard-room  gossip  was  at  its  highest,  an  orderly 
brought  down  a  little  note  for  Wilfrid.  Xt  was 
from  the  commandant's  wife,  and,  to  his  great 
surprise,  it  contained — an  invitation  to  dinner 
that  evening.  Towards  a  private  soldier,  such 
a  courtesy  was  unheard  of  ;  it  even  trenched  up- 
on the  sanctity  of  that  thrice-sacred  discipline, 
which  the  commandant  himself  was  known  to 
idolize  so  highly.  But  circumstances  alter 
cases,  says  the  sapient  proverb,  and  at  seven 
o'clock,  Wilfrid,  in  the  full  uniform  of  his  hum- 
ble rank,  presented  himself  duly  at  the  com- 
mandant's door  very  hot  and  flustered.  The 
commandant  himself  was  there  to  welcome  him 
like  a  gentleman.  In  the  drawing-room  Mona 
and  Mrs.  D'Arcy,  in  such  evening  dresses  as 
could  be  rigged  up  for  their  use  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  were  waiting  to  receive  him. 
There  was  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  Mona's  happy 
eye  which  struck  Wilfrid  at  once  with  a  strange 
presentiment  of  some  coming  pleasure.  He 
could  see  at  a  glance  it  was  something  more 
than  the  mere  joy  of  once  more  being  near  him. 

"  And  now,  Moyle,"  the  commandant  said, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulders 
very  kindly  and  gently,  "  I've  a  little  surprise, 


110  A   BRIDE   PROM  THE   DESERT. 

as  I  hope,  in  store  for  you.  I  thought  you'd 
like  to  hear  it  before  the  faces  of  those  two  ladies, 
who  owe  their  lives — and  more  even  than  their 
lives — to  you  and  your  gallantry.  ...  I 
got  a  telegram  from  the  Horse  Guards  this  af- 
ternoon, which  you  can  read  if  you  like  ;  and 
you'll  see  from  it  that  I  haven't  failed  to  L'peak 
well  of  your  exploit." 

Wilfrid  took  it  and  read  with-  a  swimming 
brain  :  "  In  consideration  of  the  facts  detailed 
in  your  telegram  of  yesterday's  date,  His  Royal 
Highness,  the  Commander  in  Chief,  has  been 
graciously  pleased  to  recommend  to  Her  Majesty 
that  a  commission  as  sub-lieutenant  should  to- 
day be  granted  to  Private  Wilfrid  Moyle  of  the 
South  Gloucestershire  Regiment,  and  his  ap- 
pointment to  that  rank  will  accordingly  now  be 
immediately  gazetted.  You  are  authorized  to 
communicate  to  Private  Moyle  at  once  his  Royal 
Highness's  decision  and  the  contents  of  this 
telegram." 

Wilfrid  looked  across,  somewhat  dim- eyed, 
towards  Mona.  Mona  stepped  forward  and  took 
his  hand  tenderly. 

"  How  soon,  my  child  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  very 
low  voice,  while  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

And  Mona  made  answer  : 

"  As  soon  as  ever  you  like,  Wilfrid.     And,  oh  ! 


BOA.T  AHOY,  THERE  !  Ill 

I'd  have  married  you  all  the  same,  you  dear  boy, 
if  you'd  still  remained  a  common  soldier." 

"  I  drew  particular  attention  in  my  dispatch," 
the  colonel  interposed,  smiling  blandly  at  their 
joy,  "  to  the  fact  that  you  passed  all  your  exam- 
inations at  Oxford,  Moyle,  and  that  but  for  the 
pains  you'd  bestowed  on  learning  Arabic  thor- 
oughly here  at  Aden,  you'd  never  have  been 
able  to  effect  this  rescue.  And  I  further  sug- 
gested to  the  authorities  at  the  Horse  Guards, 
you  might  probably  be  employed  with  consider- 
able success  on  frontier  duty  or  diplomatic  mis- 
sions." 

"  There's  another  telegram  too,  just  brought 
in  this  minute,"  the  commandant's  wife  put  in, 
taking  an  envelope  from  her  pocket  ;  "  it's 
addressed  to  Mr.  Moyle.  They  sent  it  up  here 
direct  from  the  office,  having  heard  from  the 
sentry  you  were  to  dine  with  us  this  evening." 

Wilfrid  opened  it  and  read  : 

**  Just  received  news,  dear  son,  of  your  bril- 
liant exploit,  and  consequent  promotion  to  the 
rank  of  officer.  The  past  is  forgiven.  Think  no 
more  of  that.  You  must  marry  Mona  at  once. 
Your  uncle  Fred  and  I  will  make  an  allowance 
between  us  of  three  hundred  a  year  towards 
your  household  expenses." 

He  handed  it  across  to  Mona. 


112  A   BRIDB   FROM   THE   DE8EET. 

"  From  my  father,"  he  said,  faltering.  Tears 
rushed  fast  into  her  eyes  as  she  read  its  con- 
tents. 

"  It's  not  so  much  the  money,"  she  said,  in  a 
very  quiet  voice,  "  as  to  know  they're  so  proud 
of  you  and  that  all  has  been  made  right.  And 
really,  Wilfrid,  again  after  all,  what  with  your 
pay  and  your  allowance  and  my  own  two  hun- 
dred a  year  we  shall  be  as  rich  as  Croesus,  our- 
selves, now  you're  an  officer  and  a  gentleman." 


DR  GREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT. 


Everybody  knows  by  name  at  least  the  cele- 
brated Dr.  Greatrex,  the  discoverer  of  that 
abstruse  molecular  theory  of  the  interrelations  of 
forces  and  energies.  He  is  a  comparatively 
young  man  still,  as  times  go,  for  a  person  of 
such  scientific  distinction,  for  he  is  now  barely 
forty  ;  but  to  look  at  his  tall,  spare,  earnest 
figure,  and  his  clear-cut,  delicate,  intellectual 
face,  you  would  scarcely  imagine  that  he  had 
once  been  the  hero  of  a  singularly  strange  and 
romantic  story.  Yet  there  have  been  few  lives 
more  romantic  than  Arthur  Greatrex's,  and  few 
histories  stranger  in  their  way  than  this  of  his 
engagement.  After  all,  why  should  not  a  scien- 
tific light  have  a  romance  of  his  own  as  well  as 
other  people  ? 

Fifteen  years  ago  Arthur  Greatrex,  then  a 
young  Cambridge  fellow,  had  just  come  up  to 
begin  his  medical  studies  at  a  London  hospital. 

[113] 


114  DR.    GREATREX'S   ENGAGEMENT. 

He  was  tall  in  those  days,  of  course,  but  not 
nearly  so  slender  or  so  pale  as  now  ;  for  he  had 
rowed  seven  in  his  college  boat,  and  was  a  fine, 
athletic  yonng  man  of  the  true  English  university 
pattern.  Handsome,  too,  then  and  always,  but 
with  a  more  human-looking  and  ordinary  hand- 
someness when  he  was  young  than  in  those  latter 
times  of  his  scientific  eminence.  Indeed,  any 
one  who  met  Arthur  Greatrex  at  that  time 
would  merely  have  noticed  him  as  a  fine,  intelli- 
gent young  English  gentleman,  with  a  marked 
taste  for  manly  sports,  and  a  decided  opinion  of 
his  own  about  most  passing  matters  of  public 
interest. 

Already,  even  in  those  days,  the  young  medical 
student  was  ver}-  deeply  engaged  in  recondite 
speculations  on  the  question  of  energy.  His 
active  mind,  always  dwelling  upon  wide  points 
of  cosmical  significance,  had  hit  upon  the  germ 
of  that  great  revolutionary  idea  which  was  after- 
wards to  change  the  whole  course  of  modern 
physics.  But,  as  often  happens  with  young 
men  of  twenty-five,  there  was  another  subject 
which  divided  his  attention  with  the  grand 
theory  of  his  life  ;  and  that  subject  was  the  pretty 
daughter  of  his  friend  and  instructor,  Dr.  Abury, 
the  eminent  authority  on  the  treatment  of  the 
insane.  In  all  London  you  couldn't  have  found 
a  sweeter  or  prettier   girl  than  Hetty  Abury, 


DR.  GRKATREX*S  ENGAGEMENT.      115 

Young  Greatrex  thought  her  clever,  too  ;  and, 
though  that  is  perhaps  saying  rather  too 
much,  she  was  certainly  a  good  deal  above  the 
average  of  ordinary  London  girls  in  intellect 
and  accomplishments. 

"  They  say,  Arthur,"  she  said  to  him  on  the 
day  after  their  formal  engagement,  "  that  the 
course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  ;  and 
yet  it  seems  somehow  as  if  ours  was  wonderfully 
smoothed  over  for  us  by  everybody  and  every- 
thing. I  am  the  happiest  and  proudest  girl  in  all 
the  world  to  have  won  the  love  of  such  a  man  as 
you  for  my  future  husband." 

Arthur  Greatrex  stroked  the  back  of  her  white 
little  hand  with  his,  and  answered  gently, 

"  I  hope  nothing  ever  will  arise  to  make  the 
course  of  our  love  run  any  the  rougher  ;  for  cer- 
tainly we  do  seem  to  have  every  happiness  laid 
out  most  temptingly  before  us.  It  almost  feels 
to  me  as  if  my  paradise  had  been  too  easily  won 
and  I  ought  to  have  something  harder  to  do  be- 
fore I  enter  it." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Arthur,"  Hetty  put  in  hastily  ; 
"  it  sounds  too  much  like  an  evil  omen." 

"  You  superstitious  little  woman  !"  the  young 
doctor  replied  with  a  smile.  "Talking  to  a 
scientific  man  about  signs  and  portents  !" 

And  he  kissed  her  wee  hand  tenderly,  and 
went  home  to  his  bachelor  lodging  with  that 


116      DR.  OREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

strange  exhilaration  in  heart  and  step  which  only 
the  ecstacy  of  first  love  can  ever  bring  one. 

**  No,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down 
in  his  own  easy-chair,  and  lighted  his  cigar  ;  "  I 
don't  believe  any  cloud  can  ever  arise  between 
me  and  Hetty.  We  have  everything  in  our 
favor — means  to  live  upon,  love  for  one  another, 
a  mutual  respect,  kind  relations,  and  hearts  that 
were  meant  by  nature  each  for  the  other.  Hetty 
is  certainly  the  very  sweetest  little  girl  that  ever 
lived  ;  and  she's  as  good  as  she's  sweet,  and  as 
loving  as  she's  beautiful.  What  a  dreadful  thing 
it  is  for  a  man  in  love  to  have  to  read  up  medi- 
cine for  his  next  examination  !"  And  he  took  a 
medical  book  down  from  the  shelf  with  a  sigh, 
and  pretended  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the 
diagnosis  of  scarlet  fever  till  his  cigar  was 
finished.  But,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the 
words  really  swam  before  him,  and  all  the  letters 
on  the  page  apparently  conspired  together  to 
make  up  but  a  single  name  a  thousand  times 
over— Hetty,  Hetty,  Hetty,  Hetty.  At  last  he 
laid  the  volume  down  as  hopeless,  and  turned 
dreamily  into  his  bedroom,  only  to  lie  awake 
half  the  night  and  think  perpetually  on  that  one 
theme  of  Hetty. 

Next  day  was  Dr.  Abury's  weekly  lecture  on 
diseases  of  the  brain  and  nervous  system  ;  and 
Arthur  Greatrex,  convinced  that  he  really  must 


DR.  GKEATRKX'S  ENGAGEMENT.       117 

make  an  effort,  went  to  hear  it.  The  subject 
was  one  that  always  interested  him  ;  and  partly 
by  dint  of  mental  attentir"  oartly  out  of  sheer 
desire  to  master  the  matter,  he  managed  to  hear 
it  through,  and  even  take  in  the  greater  part  of 
its  import.  As  he  left  the  room  to  go  down  the 
hospital  stairs,  he  had  his  mind  fairly  distracted 
between  the  premonitory  symptoms  of  insanity 
and  Hetty  Abury.  '*  Was  there  ever  such  an 
unfortunate  profession  as  medicine  for  a  man  in 
love?"  he  asked  himself,  half  angrily.  "Why 
didn't  I  go  and  be  a  parson  or  a  barrister,  or 
anything  else  that  would  have  kept  me  from 
mixing  up  such  incongruous  associations  ?  And 
yet,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  too,  there's 
no  particular  natural  connection  after  all  be- 
tween *  Chitty  on  Contract  *  and  dearest  Hetty." 
Musing  thus,  he  turned  to  walk  down  the 
great  central  staircase  of  the  hospital.  As  he 
did  so,  his  attention  was  attracted  for  a  moment 
by  a  sigular  person  who  was  descending  the 
opposite  stair  towards  the  same  landing.  This 
person  was  tall  and  not  ill-looking  ;  but,  as  he 
came  down  the  steps,  he  kept  pursing  up  his 
mouth  and  cheeks  into  the  most  extraordinary 
and  hideous  grimaces  ;  in  fact,  he  was  obviously 
making  insulting  faces  at  Arthur  Greatrex. 
Arthur  was  so  much  preoccupied  at  the  moment, 
however,  that  he  hardly  had  time  to  notice  the 


118     DR.  GREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

eccentric  stranger  ;  and,  as  he  took  him  for  one 
of  the  harmless  lunatic  patients  in  the  mental- 
diseases  ward,  he  would  have  passed  on  without 
further  observing  the  man  but  for  an  odd  cir- 
cumstance which  occured  as  they  both  reached 
the  great  cenral  landing  together.  Arthur  hap- 
pened to  drop  the  book  he  was  carrying  from 
under  his  arm,  and  instinctively  stooped  to  pick  it 
up.  At  the  same  moment  the  grimacing  stranger 
dropped  his  own  book  also,  not  in  imitation,  but 
by  obvious  coincidence,  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up 
with  the  self-same  gesture.  Struck  by  the 
oddity  of  the  situation,  Arthur  turned  to  look  at 
the  curious  patient.  To  his  utter  horror  and 
surprise,  he  discovered  that  the  man  he  had 
been  observing  was  his  own  reflection. 

In  one  second  the  real  state  of  the  case  flashed 
like  lightning  across  his  bewildered  brain.  There 
was  no  opposite  staircase,  as  he  knew  very  well, 
for  he  had  been  down  those  steps  a  hundred 
times  before  ;  nothing  but  a  big  mirror,  which 
reflected  and  doubled  the  one-sided  flight  from 
top  to  botton.  It  was  only  his  momentary  pre- 
occupation which  had  made  him  for  a  minute 
fall  into  the  obvious  delusion.  The  man  whom 
he  saw  descending  towards  him  was  really  him- 
self, Arthur  Greatrex. 

Even  so,  he  did  not  at  once  grasp  the  full 
strangeness  of  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed, 


DR,   GKEATREX*S   ENGAGEMKNT.  119 

It  was  only  as  he  turned  to  descend  again  that 
he  caught  another  glimpse  of  himself  in  the  big 
mirror,  and  saw  that  he  was  still  making  the 
most  horrible  and  ghastliest  grimaces — grimaces 
such  as  he  had  never  seen  equalled  save  by  the 
monkeys  at  the  Zoo,  and  (horridest  thought  of 
all  !)  by  the  worst  patients  in  the  mental-disease 
ward.  He  pulled  himself  up  in  speechless  hor- 
ror, and  looked  once  more  into  the  big  mirror. 
Yes,  there  was  positively  no  mistaking  the  fact  : 
it  was  he,  Arthur  Grcatrex,  fellow  of  Catherine's, 
who  was  making  these  hideous  and  meaningless 
distortions  of  his  own  countenance. 

With  a  terrible  effort  of  will  he  pulled  his  face 
quite  straight  again,  and  assumed  his  usual 
grave  and  quiet  demeanor.  For  a  full  minute 
he  stood  looking  at  himself  in  the  glass  ;  and 
then,  fearful  that  some  one  else  would  come  and 
surprise  him,  he  hurried  down  the  remaining 
steps,  and  rushed  out  into  the  streets  of  London. 
Which  way  he  turned  he  did  not  know  or  care  ; 
all  he  knew  was  that  he  was  repressing  by  sheer 
force  of  muscular  strain  a  deadly  impulse  to 
pucker  up  his  mouth  and  draw  down  the  corners 
of  his  lips  into  one-sided  grimaces.  As  he  passed 
down  the  streets,  he  watched  his  own  image 
faintly  reflected  in  the  panes  of  the  windows,  and 
saw  that  he  was  maintaining  outward  decorum, 
but  only  with  a  conscious  and  evident  struggle. 


120       DR.  GREATREX's  ENGAGEMENT. 

At  one  doorstep  a  little  child  was  playing  with  a 
kitten  ;  Arthur  Greatrex,  who  was  a  naturally 
kindly  man,  looked  down  at  her  and  smiled,  in 
spite  of  his  preoccupation  ;  instead  of  smiling 
back,  the  child  uttered  a  scream  of  terror,  and 
rushed  back  into  the  house  to  hide  her  face  in 
her  mother's  apron.  He  felt  instinctively  that, 
in  place  of  smiling,  he  had  looked  at  the  child 
with  one  of  his  awful  faces.  It  was  horrible, 
unendurable,  and  he  walked  on  through  the 
streets  and  across  the  bridges,  pulling  himself 
together  all  the  time,  till  at  last,  half-uncon- 
sciously,  he  found  himself  near  Pimlico,  where 
the  Aburys  were  then  living. 

Looking  around  him,  he  saw  that  he  had  come 
nearly  to  the  corner  where  Hetty's  little  draw- 
ing-room faced  the  road.  The  accustomed  place 
seemed  to  draw  him  off  for  a  moment  from  think- 
ing of  himself,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had 
promised  Hetty  to  come  in  for  luncheon.  But 
dare  he  go  in  such  a  state  of  mind  and  body  as 
he  then  found  himself  in  ?  Well,  Hetty  would 
be  expecting  him  ;  Hetty  would  be  disappointed 
if  he  didn't  come  ;  he  certainly  mustn't  break 
his  engagement  with  dear  little  Hetty.  After 
all,  he  began  to  say  to  himself,  what  was  it  but  a 
mere  twitching  of  his  face,  probably  a  slight 
nervous  affection  ?  Young  doctors  are  always 
nervous  about  themselves,  they  say  ;  they  find 


DR.    GREATREX'S   ENGAGEMENT.  121 

all  their  own  symptoms  accurately  described  in 
all  the  text-bookr  His  face  wasn't  twitching 
now,  of  that  he  was  certain  ;  the  nearer  he  got 
to  Hetty's,  the  calmer  he  grew,  and  the  more  he 
was  conscious  he  could  relax  his  attention  with- 
out finding  his  muscles  were  playing  tricks  upon 
him.  He  would  turn  in  and  have  luncheon,  and 
soon  forget  all  about  it. 

Hetty  saw  him  coming,  and  ran  lightly  to 
open  the  door  for  him,  and  as  he  took  his  seat 
beside  her  at  the  table,  he  forgot  straightway  his 
whole  trouble,  and  found  himself  at  once  in 
Paradise  once  more.  All  through  lunch  they 
talked  about  other  things — happy  plans  for  the 
future,  and  the  small  prettinesses  that  lovers 
find  so  perennially  delightful ;  and  long  before 
Arthur  went  away  the  twitching  in  his  face  had 
altogether  ceased  to  trouble  him.  Once  or  twice, 
indeed,  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he  hap- 
pened to  glance  casually  at  the  looking-glass 
above  the  drawing-room  fireplace  (those  were 
the  pre-Morrisian  days  when  overmantels  as  yet 
were  not),  and  he  saw  to  his  great  comfort  that 
his  face  was  resting  in  its  usual  handsome  repose 
and  peacefulness.  A  bright,  earnest,  strong  face 
it  was,  with  all  the  promise  of  greatness  already 
in  it  ;  and  so  Hetty  thought  as  she  looked  up  at 
it  from  the  low  footstool  where  she  sat  by  his 


122  DK.    GREATREX*S   ENGAGEMENT. 

side  and  half  whispered  into  his  ear  the  little 
timid  confidences  of  earthly  betrothal. 

Five  o'clock  tea  came  all  too  soon,  and  then 
Arthur  felt  he  must  really  be  going  and  must 
get  home  to  do  a  little  reading.  On  his  way,  he 
fancied  once  he  saw  a  street  boy  start  in  evident 
surprise  as  he  approached  him,  but  it  might  be 
fancy  ;  and  when  the  street  boy  stuck  his  tongue 
into  the  corner  of  his  cheek  and  uttered  derisive 
shouts  from  a  safe  distance,  Arthur  concluded 
he  was  only  doing  after  the  manner  of  his  kind 
out  of  pure  gratuitous  insolence.  He  went  home 
to  his  lodgings  and  sat  down  to  an  hour's  work  ; 
but  after  he  had  read  up  several  pages  more  of 
**  Stuckey  on  Gout,"  he  laid  down  the  book  in 
disgust,  and  took  out  Helmholtz  and  Joule  in- 
stead, indulging  himself  with  a  little  desultory 
reading  in  his  favorite  study  of  the  higher 
physics. 

As  he  read  and  read  the  theory  of  correlation, 
the  great  idea  as  to  the  real  nature  of  energy^ 
which  had  escaped  all  these  learned  physicists, 
and  which  was  then  slowly  forming  itself  in  his 
own  mind,  grew  gradually  clearer  and  clearer 
still  before  his  mental  vision.  Helmholtz  was 
wrong  here,  because  he  had  not  thoroughly  ap- 
preciated the  disjunctive  nature  of  electric 
energy  ;  Joule  was  wrong  there,  because  he  had 
failed  to  understand  the  real  antithesis  between 


DR.    GREATREX'S    ENGAGEMENT.  123 

potential  and  kinetic.  He  laid  down  the  books, 
paced  up  and  down  the  room  thoughtfully,  and 
beheld  the  whole  concrete  theory  of  interrelation 
embodying  itself  visibly  before  his  very  eyes. 
At  last  he  grew  fired  with  the  stupendous 
grandeur  of  his  own  conception,  seized  a  quire 
of  foolscap,  and  sat  down  eagerly  at  the  table  to 
give  written  form  to  the  splendid  phantom  that 
was  floating  before  him  in  so  distinct  a  fashion. 
He  would  make  a  great  name,  for  Hetty's  sake  ; 
and,  when  he  had  made  it,  his  dearest  reward 
would  be  to  know  that  Hetty  was  proud  of  him. 
Hour  after  hour  he  sat  and  wrote,  as  if  in- 
spired, at  his  little  table.  The  landlady  knocked 
at  the  door  to  tell  him  dinner  was  ready,  but  he 
would  have  none  of  it,  he  said  ;  let  her  bring 
him  up  a  good  cup  of  strong  tea  and  a  few  plain 
biscuits.  So  he  wrote  and  wrote  in  feverish 
haste,  drinking  cup  after  cup  of  tea,  and  turning 
off  page  after  page  of  foolscap,  till  long  past 
midnight.  The  whole  theory  had  come  up  so 
distinctly  before  his  mind's  eye,  under  the  ex- 
ceptional exaltation  of  first  love,  and  the  power- 
ful stimulus  of  the  day's  excitement,  that  he 
wrote  it  off  as  though  he  had  it  by  heart ;  omit- 
ting only  the  mathematical  calculations,  which 
he  left  blank,  not  because  he  had  not  got  them 
clearly  in  his  head,  but  because  he  would  not 
stop  his  flying  pen  to  copy  them  all  out  then  and 


124  DR.    OREATREX'S    ENGAGEMENT. 

there  at  full  length,  for  fear  of  losing-  the  main 
thread  of  his  argument.  When  he  had  finished, 
about  forty  sheets'  of  foolscap  lay  huddled  to- 
gether on  the  table  before  him,  written  in  a 
hasty  hand,  and  scarcely  legible  ;  but  they  con- 
tained the  first  rough  draft  and  central  principle 
of  that  immortal  work,  the  "  Transcendental 
Dynamics." 

Arthur  Greatrex  rose  from  the  table,  where 
his  grand  discovery  was  first  formulated,  well 
satisfied  with  himself  and  his  theory,  and  fully 
determined  to  submit  it  shortly  to  the  critical 
judgment  of  the  Royal  Society.  As  he  took  up 
his  bedroom  candle,  however,  he  went  over  to 
the  mantelpiece  to  kiss  Hetty's  photograph,  as 
he  always  did  (for  even  men  of  science  are 
human)  every  evening  before  retiring.  He 
lifted  the  portrait  reverently  to  his  lips,  and  was 
just  about  to  kiss  it,  when  suddenly  in  the  mir- 
ror before  him  he  saw  the  same  horrible  mock- 
ing face  which  had  greeted  him  so  unexpectedly 
that  morning  on  the  hospital  staircase.  It  was 
a  face  of  inhuman  devilry  ;  the  face  of  a 
mediaeval  demon,  a  hideous,  grinning,  distorted 
ghoul,  a  very  caricature  and  insult  upon  the 
features  of  humanity.  In  his  dismay  he  dropped 
the  frame  and  the  photograph,  shivering  the 
glass  that  covered  it  into  a  thousand  atoms. 
Summoning  up  all  his  resolution,  he    looked 


DR.   GREA.TREX*S  ENGAGEMENT.  125 

again.  Yes,  there  was  no  mistaking  it ;  a  face 
was  gibing  and  jeering  at  him  from  the  mirror 
with  diabolical  ingenuity  of  distorted  hideous- 
ness  ;  a  disgusting  face  which  even  the  direct 
evidence  of  his  senses  would  scarcely  permit  him 
to  believe  was  really  the  reflection  of  his  own 
features.  It  was  overpowering,  it  was  awful,  it 
was  wholly  incredible  ;  and,  utterly  unmanned  by 
the  sight,  he  sank  back  into  his  easy-chair  and 
buried  his  face  bitterly  between  the  shelter  of 
his  trembling  hands. 

At  that  moment  Arthur  Greatrex  felt  sure  he 
knew  the  real  meaning  of  the  horror  that  sur- 
rounded him.     He  was  going  mad. 

For  ten  minutes  or  more  he  sat  there  motion- 
less, hot  tears  boiling  up  from  his  eyes  and  fall- 
ing silently  between  his  fingers.  Then  at  last 
he  rose  nervously  from  his  seat,  and  reached 
down  a  volume  from  the  shelf  behind  him.  It 
was  Prang's  "  Treatise  on  the  Physiology  of  the 
Brain."  He  turned  it  over  hurriedly  for  a  few 
pages,  till  he  came  to  the  passage  he  was  look- 
ing for. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so,"  he  said  to  himself,  half 
aloud  ;  **  *  Premonitory  symptoms  :  facial  distor- 
tions ;  infirmity  of  the  will  ;  inability  to  distin- 
guish muscular  movements.'  Let's  see  what 
Prang  has  to  say  about  it.  *  A  not  uncommon 
concomitant     of     these    early    stages ' — Great 


126  DR.   GREATREX*S   ENaAGEMEiTr. 

heavens,  liow  calmly  the  man  talks  about  losing 
your  reason  ! — '  is  an  unconscious  or  semi-con- 
scious tendency  to  produce  a  series  of  extraor- 
dinary facial  distortions.  At  times,  the  sufferer 
is  not  aware  of  the  movements  thus  initiated  ; 
at  other  times  they  are  quite  voluntary,  and  are 
accompanied  by  bodily  gestures  of  contempt  or 
derision  for  passing  strangers.*  Why,  that's 
what  must  have  happened  with  that  boy  this 
morning  !  *  Symptoms  of  this  character  usually 
result  from  excessive  activity  of  the  brain,  and 
are  most  frequent  among  mathematicians  or 
scholars  who  have  overworked  their  intellectual 
faculties.     They  may  be  regarded  as  the  imme- 

* 

diate  precursors  of  acute  dementia.'  Acute  de- 
mentia !  Oh,  Hetty !  Oh,  heavens  !  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  such  a  blow  as  this  ?" 

He  laid  his  face  between  his  hands  once  more, 
and  sobbed  like  a  broken-hearted  child  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  he  turned  accidentally  towards 
his  tumbled  manuscript.  **  No,  no,"  he  said  to 
himself,  reassuringly  ;  "  I  can't  be  going  mad. 
My  brain  was  never  clearer  in  my  life.  I 
couldn't  have  done  a  piece  of  good  work  like 
that,  bristling  with  equations  and  figures  and 
formulae,  if  my  head  was  really  giving  away.  1 
seemed  to  grasp  the  subject  as  I  never  grasped 
it  in  my  life  before.  I  never  worked  so  well  at 
Cambridge  ;    this  is  a  discovery,  a  genuine  dis- 


DR.   GKEATRRX*S    ENGAGEMENT.  127 

covery.  It's  impossible  that  a  man  who  was 
going  mad  could  ever  see  anything  so  visibly 
and  distinctly  as  I  see  that  universal  principle. 
Let's  look  again  at  what  Prang  has  to  say  upon 
that  subject." 

He  turned  over  the  volume  a  few  pages 
further,  and  glanced  lightly  at  the  contents  at 
the  head  of  each  chapter,  till  at  last  a  few  words 
in  the  title  struck  his  eye,  and  he  hurried  on  to 
the  paragraph  they  indicated,  with  feverish 
eagerness.  As  he  did  so,  these  were  the  words 
which  met  his  bewildered  gaze. 

"  In  certain  cases,  especially  among  men  of 
unusual  intelligence  and  high  attainments,  the 
exaltation  of  incipient  madness  takes  rather  the 
guise  of  a  scientific  or  philosophic  enthusiasm. 
Instead  of  imagining  himself  the  possessor  of 
untold  wealth,  or  the  absolute  despot  of  a  servile 
people,  the  patient  deludes  himself  with  the  be- 
lief that  he  has  made  a  great  discovery  or 
lighted  upon  a  splendid  generalization  of  the 
deepest  and  most  universal  importance.  He 
sees  new  truths  crowding  upon  him  with  the 
most  startling  and  vivid  objectivity.  He  per- 
ceives intimate  relations  of  things  which  he 
never  before  suspected.  He  destroys  at  one 
blow  the  Newtonian  theory  of  gravitation  ;  he 
discovers  obvious  flaws  in  the  nebular  hypothe- 
sis of  Laplace  ;    he  gives  a  scholar's-mate  to 


128  DR.    GREiLTREX's   ENGAGEMENT. 

Kant  in  the  very  fundamental  points  of  the 
*  Critique  of  Pure  Reason.'  The  more  serious 
the  attack,  the  more  utterly  convinced  is  the 
patient  of  the  exceptional  clearness  of  his  own 
intelligence  at  that  particular  moment.  He 
writes  pamphlets  whose  scientific  value  he 
ridiculously  over-estimates  ;  and  he  is  sure  to 
be  very  angry  with  any  one  who  tries  rationally 
to  combat  his  newly  found  authority.  Mathe- 
matical reasoners  are  especially  liable  to  this 
form  of  incipient  mental  disease,  which,  when 
combined  with  the  facial  distortions  already 
alluded  to  in  a  previous  section,  is  peculiarly  apt 
to  terminate  in  acute  dementia."  '■ 

*•  Acute  dementia  again  !"  Arthur  Greatrex 
cried  with  a  gesture  of  horror,  flinging  the  book 
from  him  as  if  it  were  a  poisonous  serpent. 
''  Acute  dementia,  acute  dementia,  acute  demen- 
tia ;  nothing  but  acute  dementia  ahead  of  me, 
whichever  way  I  happen  to  turn.  Oh,  this  is  too 
horrible  !  I  shall  never  be  able  to  marry  Hetty. 
And  yet  I  shall  never  be  able  to  break  it  to 
Hetty  !  Great  heavens,  that  such  a  phantom  as 
this  should  have  risen  between  me  and  paradise 
only  since  this  very  morning  !" 

In  his  agony  he  caught  up  the  papers  on 
which  he  had  written  the  rough  draft  of  his 
grand  discovery,  and  crumpled  them  up  fiercely 
in  his  fingers.    "  The  cursed  things  !"  he  groaned 


DR.   GREATREX'S   ENGAGEMENT.  129 

between  his  teeth,  tossing  them  with  a  gesture 
of  impatient  disgust  into  the  waste-paper  bas- 
ket ;  "  how  could  I  ever  have  deluded  myself 
into  thinking  I  had  hit  offhand  upon  a  grand 
truth  which  had  escaped  such  men  as  Helm- 
holtz,  and  Mayer,  and  Joule,  and  Thompson  ! 
The  thing's  preposterous  upon  the  very  face  of 
it ;  T  must  be  going  mad,  indeed,  ever  to  have 
dreamt  of  it  !" 

He  took  up  his  candle  once  more,  kissed  the 
portrait  in  the  broken  frame  with  intense  fervor 
a  dozen  limes  over,  and  then  went  up  gloomily 
into  .his  own  bedroom.  There  he  did  not  at- 
tempt to  undress,  but  merely  pulled  off  his  boots, 
lay  down  in  his  clothes  upon  the  bed,  and  hastily 
blew  out  the  candle.  For  a  long  time  he  lay 
tossing  and  turning  in  unspeakable  terror  ;  but 
at  last,  after  perhaps  two  hours  or  so,  he  fell 
into  a  troubled  sleep,  and  dreamed  a  hideous 
nightmare,  in  which  somebody  or  other  in 
shadowy  outlines  was  trying  perpetually  to  tear 
him  away  by  main  force  from  poor  pale  and 
weeping  Hetty. 

It  was  daylight  when  Arthur  woke  again,  and 
he  lay  for  some  time  upon  his  bed,  thinking  over 
his  last  night's  scare,  which  seemed  much  less 
serious,  as  such  things  always  do,  now  that  the 
sun  had  risen  upon  it.  After  a  while  his  mind 
got  round  to  the  energy  question  ;   and,  as  he 


130      DR.  0REATREX*8  KNOAGEME.VT. 

thought  it  over  once  more,  the  conviction  forced 
itself  afresh  upon  him  that  he  was  right  upon 
the  matter  after  all,  and  that  if  he  was  going 
mad  there  was  at  least  method  in  his  madness. 
So  firmly  was  he  convinced  upon  this  point  now 
(though  he  recognized  that  that  very  certainty 
might  be  merely  a  symptom  of  his  coming  mal- 
ady) that  he  got  up  hurriedly,  before  the  lodg- 
ing-house servant  came  to  clean  up  his  little 
sitting-room,  so  as  to  rescue  his  crumpled  fools- 
cap from  the  waste-paper  basket.  After  that,  a 
bath  and  breakfast  almost  made  him  laugh  at 
his  evening  terrors. 

All  the  morning  Arthur  Greatrex  sat  down  at 
his  table  again,  working  in  the  algebraical  cal- 
culations which  he  had  omitted  from  his  paper 
overnight,  and  finishing  it  in  full  form  as  if  for 
presentation  to  a  learned  society.  But  he  did 
not  mean  now  to  offer  it  to  any  society  ;  he  had 
a  far  deeper  and  more  personal  interest  in  the 
matter  at  present  than  that.  He  wanted  to  settle 
first  of  all  the  question  whether  he  was  going  mad 
or  not.  Afterwards  there  would  be  plenty  of 
time  to  settle  such  minor  theoretical  problems  as 
the  general  physical  constitution  of  the  universe. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  calculations  he 
took  the  paper  in  his  hands,  and  went  out  with 
it  to  make  two  calls  on  scientific  acquaintances. 
The  first  man  he  called  upon  was  that  distin- 


DR.    GUKATREX'S   ENOAQEMENT.  131 

guished  specialist,  Professor  Linklight,  one  of 
the  greatest  authorities  of  bis  own  day  on  all 
questions  of  molecular  physics.  Poor  man  !  he 
is  almost  forgotten  now,  for  he  died  ten  years 
ago  ;  and  his  scientific  reputation  was,  after  all, 
of  that  flashy  sort  which  bases  itself  chiefly  upon 
giving  good  dinners  to  leading  fellows  of  the 
Royal  Society.  But  fifteen  years  ago  Professor 
Linklight,  with  his  cut-and-dried  dogmatic  no- 
tions, and  his  narrow  technical  accuracy,  was 
universally  considered  the  principal  physical 
philosopher  in  all  England.  To  him,  then,  Ar- 
thur Greatrex — a  far  deeper  and  clearer  thinker 
— took  in  all  humility  the  first  manuscript  of  his 
marvelous  discovery  ;  not  to  ask  him  whether 
it  was  true  or  not,  but  to  find  out  whether  it  was 
physical  science  at  all  or  pure  insanity.  The 
professor  received  him  kindly  ;  and  when  Ar- 
thur, who  had  of  course  his  own  reasons  for  at- 
tempting a  little  modest  concealment,  asked  him 
to  look  over  a  friend's  paper  for  him,  with  a 
view  to  its  presentation  to  the  Royal  Society,  he 
cheerfully  promised  to  do  his  best.  "  Though 
you  will  admit,  my  dear  Mr.  Greatrex,"  he  said 
with  his  blandest  smile,  "  that  your  friend's 
manuscript  certainly  does  not  err  on  the  side  of 
excessive  brevity." 

From   Linklight's  Arthur  walked  on  tremu- 
lously to  the  house  of  another  great  scientific 


132  DR.    GREATREX'S    ENGAGEMENT. 

magnate,  Dr.  Warminster,  who  shared  with  his 
friendly  rival,  Abury,  the  reputation  of  being 
the  first  living  authority  on  the  treatment  of  the 
insane  in  the  United  Kingdom.  Before  Dr. 
Warminster,  Arthur  made  no  attempt  to  conceal 
his  apprehensions.  He  told  out  all  his  symp- 
toms and  fears  without  reserve,  even  exagger- 
ating them  a  little,  as  a  man  is  prone  to  do 
through  over-anxiety  not  to  put  too  favorable  a 
face  upon  his  own  ailments.  Dr.  Warminster 
listened  attentively  and  with  a  gathering  interest 
'  )  all  that  Arthur  told  him,  and  at  the  end  of  his 
account  he  shook  his  head  gloomily,  and  an- 
swered in  a  very  grave  and  sympathetic  tone. 

*'  My  dear  Greatrex,"  he  said  gently,  holding 
his  arm  with  a  kindly  pressure,  "  I  should  be 
dealing  wrongly  with  you  if  I  did  not  candidly 
tell  you  that  your  case  gives  ground  for  very 
serious  apprehensions.  You  are  a  yoimg  man, 
and  with  steady  attention  to  curative  means  and 
surroundings  it  is  possible  that  you  may  ward 
off  this  threatened  danger.  Society,  amusement, 
relaxation,  complete  cessation  of  scientific  work, 
absence  as  far  as  possible,  of  mental  anxiety  in 
any  form,  may  enable  you  to  tide  over  the  turn- 
ing point.  But  that  there  is  danger  threatened, 
it  would  be  unkind  and  untrue  not  to  warn  you. 
It  is  very  unusual  for  a  patient  to  consult  us  in 
person   about  these  matters.     More  often  it  is 


DR.    GREATREX's   ENGAGEMENT.  133 

the  friends  who  notice  the  coming  change  ;  but, 
as  you  ask  me  directly  for  an  opinion,  I  can't 
help  telling  you  that  I  regard  your  case  as  not 
without  real  cause  for  the  strictest  care  and  for 
a  preventive  regimen." 

Arthur  thanked  him  for  the  numerous  direc- 
tions he  gave  as  to  things  which  should  be  done 
or  things  which  should  be  avoided,  and  hurried 
out  into  the  street  with  his  brain  swimming  and 
reeling.  "Absence  of  mental  anxiety  !"  he  said 
to  himself  bitterly.  *'  How  calmly  they  talk 
about  mental  anxiety  !  How  can  I  possibly  be 
free  from  anxiety  when  I  know  I  may  go  mad  at 
any  moment,  and  that  the  blow  would  kill  Hetty 
outright  ?  For  myself,  I  should  not  care  a  far- 
thing ;  but  for  Hetty  !     It  is  too  terrible." 

He  had  not  the  heart  to  call  at  the  Aburys* 
that  afternoon,  though  he  had  promised  to  do  so  ; 
and  he  tortured  himself  with  the  tliought  that 
Hetty  would  think  him  neglectful.  He  could 
not  call  again  while  the  present  suspense  lasted  ; 
and  if  his  worst  fears  were  confirmed  he  could 
never  call  again,  except  once,  to  take  leave  of 
Hetty  forever.  For,  deeply  as  Arthur  Greatrex 
loved  her,  he  loved  her  too  well  ever  to  dream 
of  marrying  her  if  the  possible  shadow  of  mad- 
ness was  to  cloud  her  future  life  with  its  perpet- 
ual presence.  Better  she  should  bear  the  shock, 
even   if  it  killed  her  at  once,  than   that   both 


134  DR.   GREATREX*S   ENGAGEMENT. 

should  live  in  ceaseless  apprehension  of  that 
horrible  possibility,  and  should  become  the  par- 
ents of  children  upon  whom  that  hereditary- 
curse  might  rest  for  a  lifetime,  reflecting  itself 
back  with  the  added  sting  of  conscientious  re- 
morse on  the  father  who  had  brought  them  into 
the  world  against  his  own  clear  judgment  of 
right  and  justice. 

Next  morning  Arthur  went  round  once  more 
to  Professor  Linklight's.  The  professor  had 
promised  to  read  through  the  paper  immedi- 
ptely,  and  give  his  opinion  of  its  chances  for 
presentation  to  the  Royal  Society.  He  was  sit- 
ting at  his  break  fast- table,  in  his  flowered  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  when  Arthur  called  upon 
him,  and,  with  a  cup  of  coffee  in  one  hand,  was 
actually  skimming  the  last  few  pages  through 
his  critical  eye-glass  as  his  visitor  entered. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Greatrex  !"  he  said,  with 
one  of  his  most  gracious  smiles,  indicative  of  the 
warm  welcome  extended  by  acknowledged  wis- 
dom towards  rising  talent.  "You  see  I  have 
been  reading  your  friend's  paper,  as  I  promised. 
Well,  my  dear  sir,  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
upon  it,  it  won't  hold  water.  In  fact,  it's  a  mere 
rigmarole.  Excuse  my  asking  you,  Greatrex, 
but  have  you  any  idea,  my  dear  fellow,  whether 
your  friend  is  inclined  to  be  a  little  cracky  ?" 

Arthur  swallowed  a  groan  with  the  greatest 


DR.    GREATREI*S   ENGAGEMENT.  135 

difficulty,  and  answered  in  as  unconcerned  a 
tone  as  possible,  "  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Mr.  Linklight,  some  doubts  have  been  cast  upon 
his  perfect  sanity." 

"  Ah,  I  should  have  thought  so,"  the  professor 
went  on  in  his  airiest  manner  ;  "  I  should  have 
thought  so.  The  fact  is,  this  paper  is  fitter  for 
the  transactions  of  the  Colney  Hatch  Academy 
than  for  those  of  the  Royal  Society.  It  has  a 
delusive  outer  appearance  of  physical  thinking, 
but  there's  no  real  meaning  in  it  of  any  sort. 
It's  gassy,  unsubstantial,  purely  imaginative." 
And  the  professor  waved  his  hand  in  the  air  to 
indicate  its  utter  gaseousness.  '*  If  you  were  to 
ask  my  own  opinion  about  it,  I  should  say  it's 
the  sort  of  thing  that  might  be  produced  by  a 
young  man  of  some  mathematical  training  with 
a  very  superficial  knowledge  of  modern  physics, 
just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  lapsing  into  com- 
plete insanity.  It's  the  maddest  bit  of  writing 
that  has  ever  yet  fallen  under  my  critical 
notice." 

*'  Your  opinion  is  of  course  conclusive,"  Arthur 
answered  with  unfeigned  humility,  his  eyes  al- 
most bursting  with  the  tears  he  would  not  let 
come  to  the  surface.  "  It  will  be  a  great  disap- 
pointment to  my  friend,  but  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  accept  your  verdict." 

*'  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  sir,"  the  professor 


136  DR.   GREATKEX'S    ENGAGEMENT, 

put  in  quickly.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  These  crazy  fel- 
lows always  stick  to  their  own  opinions,  and  think 
you  a  perfect  fool  for  disagreeing  with  them. 
Mark  my  words,  Mr.  Greatrex,  your  friend  will 
still  go  on  believing,  in  spite  of  everything,  that 
his  roundabout  reasoning  upon  that  preposter- 
ous square-root-of-Pi  theorem  is  sound  mathe- 
matics." 

And  Arthur,  looking  within,  felt  with  a  glow 
of  horror  that  the  theorem  in  question  seemed 
to  him  at  that  moment  more  obviously  true  and 
certain  in  all  its  deductions  than  it  had  ever 
done  before  since  the  first  day  that  he  conceived 
it.     How  very  mad  he  must  be  after  all. 

He  thanked  Professor  Linklight  as  well  as  he 
was  able  for  his  kindness  in  looking  over  the 
paper,  and  groped  his  way  blindly  through  the 
passage  to  the  front  door  and  out  into  the 
square.  Thence  he  staggered  home  wearily, 
convinced  that  it  w^as  all  over  between  him  and 
Hetty,  and  that  he  must  make  up  his  mind 
forthwith  to  his  horrible  destiny. 

If  he  had  only  known  at  that  moment  that 
forty  years  earlier  Professor  Linklight  had  used 
almost  the  same  words  about  Young's  theory  of 
undulations,  and  had  since  used  them  about 
every  new  discovery  from  that  day  to  the  one 
on  which  he  then  saw  him,  he  might  have  at- 


DB.   GREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT.  137 

tached  less  importance  than  he  actually  did  to 
this  supposed  final  proof  of  his  own  insanity. 

As  Arthur  entered  his  lodgings  he  hung  his 
hat  up  on  the  stand  in  the  passage.  There  was 
a  little  strip  of  mirror  in  the  middle  of  the 
stand,  and  glancing  at  it  casually  he  saw  once 
more  that  awful  face — his  own — distorted  and  al- 
most diabolical,  which  he  had  learnt  so  soon  to 
hate  instinctively  as  if  it  were  a  felon's  and  a 
murderer's.  He  rushed  away  wildly  into  his  little 
sitting-room,  and  flung  his  manuscript  on  the 
table,  almost  without  observing  that  his  friend 
Freeling,  the  rising  physiologist,  was  quietly 
seated  on  the  sofa  opposite. 

"  What's  this,  Arthur  ?"  Freeling  asked,  taking 
it  up  carelessly  and  glancing  at  the  title.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you've  finally  written  out 
that  splendid  idea  of  yours  about  the  interrela- 
tions of  energy  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,  Harry  ;  I  have,  and  I  wish  to 
heaven  I  hadn't,  for  it's  all  mad  and  silly  and 
foolish  and  meaningless  !" 

"  If  it  is,  then  I'm  mad  too,  my  dear  fellow, 
for  I  think  it  is  the  most  convincing  thing  in 
physics  I  ever  listened  to.  Let  me  have  the 
manuscript  to  look  over,  and  see  how  you've 
worked  out  those  beautiful  calculations  about 
the  square  root  of  Pi,  will  you  ?" 

"  Take  the  thing,  for  heaven's  sake,  and  leave 


l38      DR.  GREATREX*S  ENGAGEMENT. 

me,  Harry," for  if  I'm  not  left  alone  I  shall  break 
down  and  cry  before  you."  And  as  he  spoke  he 
buried  his  head  in  his  arm  and  sobbed  like  a 
woman. 

Dr.  Freeling  knew  Arthur  was  in  love,  and 
was  aware  that  people  sometimes  act  very  unac- 
countably under  such  circumstances  ;  so  he  did 
the  wisest  thing  to  be  done  then  and  there  ;  he 
grasped  his  friend's  arm  gently  with  his  hand, 
spoke  never  a  word,  and  taking  up  his  hat  and 
the  manuscript,  walked  quietly  out  into  the  pas- 
sage. Then  he  told  the  landlady  to  make  Mr. 
Greatrex  a  strong  cup  of  tea,  with  a  dash  of 
brandy  in  it,  and  turned  away,  leaving  Arthur  to 
solitude  and  his  own  reflections. 

That  evening's  post  brought  Arthur  Greatrex 
two  letters,  which  finally  completed  his  utter 
prostration.  The  first  he  opened  was  from  Dr. 
Abury.  He  broke  the  envelope  with  a  terrible 
misgiving,  and  read  the  letter  through  with  a 
deepening  and  sickening  feeling  of  horror.  It 
was  not  he  alone,  then,  who  had  distorted  the 
secret  of  his  own  incipient  insanity.  Dr.  Abury's 
practised  eye  had  also  detected  the  rising  symp- 
toms. The  doctor  wrote  kindly  and  with  evi- 
dent grief  ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  firm 
purport  of  his  intentions.  Conferring  this  morn- 
ing with  his  professional  friend  Warminster, 
a  case  had  been  mentioned    to  him,  without 


DR.   GREA.TREX*S    ENGAGEMENT.  139 

a  name,  which  he  at  once  recognized  as  Ar- 
thur's. He  recalled  certain  symptoms  he  had 
himself  observed,  and  his  suspicions  were  thus 
vividly  aroused.  Happening  accidentally  to  fol- 
low Arthur  in  the  street  he  was  convinced  that 
his  surmise  was  correct,  and  he  thought  it  his 
duty  both  to  inform  Arthur  of  the  danger  that 
encompassed  him,  and  to  assure  him  that,  deeply 
as  it  grieved  him  to  withdraw  the  consent  he 
had  so  gladly  given,  he  could  not  allow  his  only 
daughter  to  marry  a  man  bearing  on  his  face  the 
evident  marks  of  an  insane  tendency.  The  letter 
contained  much  more  of  regret  and  condolence  ; 
but  that  was  the  pith  that  Arthur  Greatrex  picked 
out  of  it  all  through  the  blinding  tears  that 
dimmed  his  vision. 

The  second  letter  was  from  Hetty.  Half 
guessing  its  contents,  he  had  left  it  purposely  till 
the  last,  and  he  tore  it  open  now  with  a  fearful 
sinking  feeling  in  his  bosom.  It  was  indeed  a 
heart-broken,  heart-breaking  letter.  What  could 
be  the  secret  which  papa  would  not  tell  her  .? 
Why  had  not  Arthur  come  yesterday  ?  Why 
could  she  never  marry  him  ?  Why  was  papa  so 
cruel  as  not  to  tell  her  the  reason  ?  He  couldn't 
have  done  anything  in  the  slightest  degree  dis- 
honorable, far  less  anything  wicked  ;  of  that  she 
felt  sure  ;  but,  if  not,  what  could  be  this  horrible 
mysterious,  unknown  barrier  that  was  so  sudden- 


140       DR.  GREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

ly  raised  between  them  ?  "  Do  write,  dearest  Ar- 
thur, and  relieve  me  from  this  terrible,  incompre- 
hensible suspense  ;  do  let  me  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  make  papa  so  determined  against  you. 
I  could  bear  to  lose  you — at  least  I  could  bear  it 
as  other  women  have  done — but  I  can't  bear  this 
awful  uncertainty,  this  awful  doubt  as  to  your 
love  or  your  constancy.  For  heaven's  sake, 
darling,  send  me  a  note  somehow  !  send  me  a 
line  to  tell  me  you  love  me.  Your  heart- 
broken, 

"  Hetty." 

Arthur  took  his  hat,  and,  unable  to  endure 
this  agony,  set  out  at  once  for  the  Aburys'. 
When  he  reached  the  door,  the  servant  who  an- 
swered his  ring  at  the  bell  told  him  he  could  not 
see  the  doctor  ;  he  was  engaged  with  two  other 
doctors  in  a  consultation  about  Miss  Hetty. 
What  \vas  the  matter  with  Miss  Hetty,  then  ? 
What,  didn't  he  know  that  ?  Oh,  Miss  Hetty 
had  had  a  fit,  and  Dr.  Freeling  and  Dr.  Mac- 
Kinlay  had  been  called  in  to  see  her.  Arthur 
did  not  wait  for  a  moment,  but  walked  upstairs 
unannounced,  and  into  the  consulting-room. 

Was  it  a  very  serious  matter?  Yes,  Freeling 
answered,  very  serious.  It  seemed  Miss  Abury 
had  had  a  great  shock — a  great  shock  to  her 
affections — which,   he   added   in  a  lower  voice, 


DE.  OREATREX'S   ENGAGEMENT.  141 

"  you  yourself  can  perhaps  best  explain  to  me. 
She  will  certainly  have  a  long  illness.  Perhaps 
she  may  never  recover." 

*'  Come  out  into  the  conservatory,  Harry," 
said  Arthur  to  his  friend.  "  I  can  tell  you  there 
what  it  is  all  about." 

In  a  few  words  Arthur  told  him  the  nature  of 
the  shock,  but  without  describing  the  particular 
symptoms  on  which  the  opinion  of  his  supposed 
approaching  insanity  was  based.  Freeling  lis- 
tened with  an  incredulous  smile,  and  at  the  end 
he  said  to  his  friend  gently,  •'  My  dear  Arthur,  I 
wish  you  had  told  me  all  this  before.  If  you 
had  done  so,  we  might  have  saved  Miss  Abury 
a  shock  which  may  perhaps  be  fatal.  You  are 
no  more  going  mad  than  I  am  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, you're  about  the  sanest  and  most  clear- 
headed fellow  of  my  acquaintance.  But  these 
mad-doctors  are  always  finding  madness  every- 
where. If  you  had  come  to  me  and  told  me  the 
symptoms  that  troubled  you,  I  should  soon  have 
set  you  right  again  in  your  own  opinion.  To 
have  gone  to  Warminster  was  most  unfortu- 
nate, but  it  can't  be  helped  now.  What  we 
have  to  do  at  present  is  to  take  care  of  Miss 
Abury." 

Arthur  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  Ah,"  he  said, 
"you  don't  know  the  real  gravity  of  the  symp- 
toms I  am  suffering  from.     I  shall  tell  you  all 


142       DK.  OREATREX*S  ENGAGEMENT. 

about  them  some  other  time.     However,  as  you 

"    say,  what  we  have  to  think  about  now  is  Hetty. 

Can  you  let  me  see  her  ?    I  am  sure  if  I  could 

see  her  it  would  reassure  her  and  do  her  good," 

Dr.  Abury  was  at  first  very  unwilling  to  let 
Arthur  visit  Hetty,  who  was  now  lying  uncon- 
scious on  the  sofa  in  her  own  boudoir  ;  but 
Freeling's  opinion  that  it  might  possibly  do  her 
good  at  last  prevailed  with  him,  and  he  gave  his 
permission  grudgingly. 

Arthur  went  into  the  room  silently  and  took 
his  seat  beside  the  low  couch  where  the  mother- 
less girl  was  lying.  Her  face  was  very  white, 
and  her  hands  pale  and  bloodless.  He  took 
one  hand  in  his  ;  the  pulse  was  hardly  per- 
ceptible. He  laid  it  down  upon  her  breast,  and 
leaned  back  to  watch  for  any  sign  of  returning 
life  in  her  pallid  cheek  and  closed  eyelids. 

For  hours  and  hours  he  sat  there  watching, 
and  no  sign  came.  Dr.  Abury  sat  at  the  bottom 
of  the  couch,  watching  with  him  ;  and  as  they 
watched,  Arthur  felt  from  time  to  time  that  his 
face  was  again  twitching  horribly.  However,  he 
had  only  thoughts  for  one  thing  now  :  would 
Hetty  die  or  would  she  recover  ?  The  servants 
brought  them  a  little  cake  and  wine.  They  sat 
and  drank  in  silence,  looking  at  one  another,  but 
each  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  speaking 
never  a  word  for  good  or  evil. 


DR.   OREATREX's   ENGAGEMENT.  143 

At  last  Hetty's  eyes  opened.  Arthur  noticed 
the  change  first,  and  took  her  hand  in  his  gently. 
Her  staring  gaze  fell  upon  him  for  a  moment, 
and  she  asked  feebly,  *'  Arthur,  Arthur,  do  you 
still  love  me  ?" 

"  Love  you,  Hetty  ?  With  all  my  heart  and 
soul,  as  I  have  always  loved  you  !" 

She  smiled,  and  said  nothing.  Dr.  Abury 
gave  her  a  little  wine  in  a  teaspoon,  and  she 
drank  it  quietly.  Then  she  shut  her  eyes  again, 
but  this  time  she  was  sleeping. 

All  night  Arthur  watched  still  by  the  bedside 
where  they  put  her  a  little  later,  and  Dr.  Abury 
and  a  nurse  watched  with  him.  In  the  morning 
she  woke  slightly  better,  and  when  she  saw 
Arthur  still  there,  she  smiled  again,  and  said 
that  if  he  was  with  her,  she  was  happy.  When 
Freeling  came  to  inquire  after  the  patient,  he 
found  her  so  much  stronger,  and  Arthur  so 
worn  with  fear  and  sleeplessness,  that  he 
insisted  upon  carrying  off  his  friend  in  his 
brougham  to  his  own  house,  and  giving  him  a 
slight  restorative.  He  might  come  back  at 
once,  he  said  ;  but  only  after  he  had  had  a  dose 
of  mixture,  a  glass  of  brandy  and  seltzer,  and  at 
least  a  mouthful  of  something  for  breakfast. 

As  Freeling  was  drawing  the  cork  of  the 
seltzer,  Arthur's  eye  happened  to  light  on  a 
monkey,  which  was  chained   to  a  post  in  the 


144  DR.    OREATREX*S   ENGAGEMENT. 

little  area  plot  outside  the  consulting-room. 
Arthur  was  accustomed  to  see  monkeys  there, 
for  Freeling  often  had  invalids  from  the  Zoo  to 
observe  side  by  side  with  human  patients  ;  but 
this  particular  monkey  fascinated  him  even  in 
his  present  shattered  state  of  nerves,  because 
there  was  a  something  in  its  face  which  seemed 
strangely  and  horribly  familiar  to  him.  As  he 
looked,  he  recognized  with  a  feeling  of  unspeak- 
able aversion  what  it  was  of  which  the  monkey 
reminded  him.  It  was  making  a  series  of  hide- 
ous and  apparently  mocking  grimaces — the  very 
self-same  grimaces  which  he  had  seen  on  his 
own  features  in  the  mirror  during  the  last  day 
or  two  !  Horrible  idea  !  He  was  descending 
to  the  level  of  the  very  monkeys  I 

The  more  he  watched,  the  more  absolutely 
identical  the  two  sets  of  grimaces  appeared  to 
him  to  be.  Could  it  be  fancy  or  was  it  reality  ? 
Or  might  it  be  one  more  delusion,  showing  that 
his  brain  was  now  giving  way  entirely  ?  He 
rubbed  his  eyes,  steadied  his  attention,  and 
looked  again  with  the  deepest  interest.  No,  he 
could  not  be  mistaken.  The  monkey  was  act- 
ing in  every  respect  precisely  as  he  himself  had 
acted. 

"  Harry,"  he  said,  in  a  low  and  frightened 
tone,  **  look  at  this  monkey.  Is  he  mad  ?  Tell 
me." 


DR.  OUEATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT.      145 

"My  dear  Arthur,"  replied  his  friend,  with 
just  a  shade  of  expostulation  in  his  voice,  "  you 
have  really  got  madness  on  the  brain  at  present. 
No,  he  isn't  mad  at  all.  He's  as  sane  as  you 
are,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal,  I  can  assure 
you." 

"  But,  Harry,  you  can't  have  seen  what  he's 
doing.  He's  grimacing  and  contorting  himself 
in  the  most  extraordinary  fashion." 

**  Well,  monke)\s  often  do  grimace,  don't 
they  ?"  Harry  Freeling  answered  coolly.  "  Take 
this  brandy  and  you'll  soon  feel  better." 

**  But  they  don't  grimace  like  this  one," 
Arthur  persisted. 

'*  No,  not  like  this  one,  certainly.  That's  why 
I've  got  him  here.  I'm  going  to  operate  upon 
him  for  it  under  chloroform,  and  cure  him  im- 
mediately." 

Arthur  leaped  from  his  seat  like  one  de- 
mented. "  Operate  upon  him,  cure  him  !"  he 
cried  hastily.  "  What  on  earth  do  you  mean, 
Harry  ?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  don't  be  so  excited,"  said  Freel- 
ing. **  This  suspense  and  sleeplessness  have  been 
too  much  for  you.  This  is  anti vivisection  car- 
ried ad  absurdiim.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
object  to  operations  upon  a  monkey  for  his  own 
benefit,  do  you  ?  If  I  don't  cut  a  nerve,  tetanus 
will  finally  set  in,  and   he'll  die  of  it  in  great 


146  DR.    OREATREX  S   ENGAGEMENT. 

agony.     Drink  off  your  brandy,  and  you'll  feel 
better  after  it." 

*'  But,  Harry,  what's  the  matter  with  the  mon- 
key ?    For  heaven's  sake,  tell  me  !" 

Harry  Freeling  looked  at  his  friend  for  the 
first  time  a  little  suspiciously.  Could  Warmin- 
ster be  right  after  all,  and  could  Arthur  really 
be  going  mad  ?  It  was  so  ridiculous  of  him  to 
get  into  such  a  state  of  flurry  about  the  ailments 
of  a  tame  monkey,  and  at  such  a  moment,  too  ! 
"  Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  the  monkey  has 
got  facial  distortions  due  to  a  slight  local  par- 
alysis of  the  inhibitory  nerves  supplied  to  the 
buccal  and  pharyngeal  muscles,  with  a  tendency 
to  end  in  tetanus.  If  I  cut  a  small  ganglion  be- 
hind the  ear,  and  exhibit  santonin,  the  muscles 
will  be  relaxed  ;  and  though  they  they  won't  act 
so  freely  as  before,  they  won't  jerk  and  grimace 
any  longer." 

"  Does  it  ever  occur  in  human  beings  ?"  Arthur 
asked  eagerly. 

"  Occur  in  human  beings  ?  Bless  my  soul, 
yes  !  I've  seen  dozens  of  cases.  Why,  goodness 
gracious,  Arthur,  it's  positively  occurring  in 
your  own  face  at  this  very  moment !" 

"  I  know  it  is,"  Arthur  answered  in  an  agony 
of  suspense.  **  Do  you  think  this  twitching  of 
mine  is  due  to  a  local  paralysis  of  the  inhibitor- 
ies,  such  as  you  speak  of  ?" 


DR.    GKKATREX'S   ENOAQEMENT.  14:7 

"  Excuse  my  laughing-,  my  dear  fellow  ;  you 
really  do  look  so  absurdly  comical.  No,  I 
don't  think  anything  about  it.     I  know  it  is." 

**  Then  you  believe  Warminster  was  wrong  in 
taking  it  for  a  symptom  of  incipient  insanity  ?" 

It  was  Freeling's  turn  now  to  jump  up  in  sur- 
prise. "  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,  Arthur, 
that  that  was  the  sole  ground  on  which  that  old 
fool,  Warminster,  thought  you  were  going 
crazy  ?" 

"  He  didn't  see  it  himself,"  answered  Arthur, 
with  a  sigh  of  imspeakable  relief.  "  I  only  de- 
scribed it  to  him,  and  he  drew  his  inference  from 
what  I  told  him.  But  the  real  question  is  this, 
Harry  :  Do  you  feel  quite  sure  that  there's  noth- 
ing more  than  that  the  matter  with  me  ?" 

♦*  Absolutely  certain,  my  dear  fellow.  I  can 
cure  you  in  half  an  hour.  I've  done  it  dozens  of 
times  before,  and  know  the  thing  as  well  as  you 
know  an  ordinary  case  of  scarlet  fever." 

Arthur  sighed  again.  "  And  perhaps,"  he 
said  bitterly,  "  this  terrible  mistake  may  cost 
dear  Hetty  her  life  !" 

He  drank  off  the  brandy,  ate  a  few  mouthfuls 
of  food  as  best  he  might,  and  hastened  back  to 
the  Aburys'.  When  he  got  there  he  learned 
from  the  servant  that  Hetty  was  at  least  no 
worse  ;  and  with  that  negative  comfort  he  had 
for  the  moment  to  content  hiicself. 


148  dh.  greatkex's  engagement. 

Hetty's  illness  was  long  and  serious  ;  but  be- 
fore it  was  over  Freeling  was  able  to  convince 
Dr.  Abur}^  of  his  own  and  his  colleague's  error 
and  to  prove  by  a  simple  piece  of  surgery  that 
Arthur's  hideous  grimaces  were  due  to  nothing 
worse  than  a  purely  physical  impediment.  The 
operation  was  quite  a  successful  one  ;  but  though 
Greatrex's  face  has  never  since  been  liable  to 
these  curious  contortions,  the  consequent  relax- 
ation of  the  muscles  has  given  his  features  that 
peculiarly  calm  and  almost  impassive  expression 
which  everybody  must  have  noticed  upon  them 
at  the  present  day,  even  in  moments  of  the 
greatest  animation.  The  difficulty  was  how  to 
break  the  cause  of  the  temporary  mistake  to 
Hetty,  and  this  they  were  unable  to  do  until  she 
was  to  a  great  extent  convalescent.  When  once 
the  needful  explanation  was  over,  and  Arthur 
was  able  once  more  to  kiss  her  with  perfect  free- 
dom from  any  tinge  of  suspicion  on  her  part,  he 
felt  that  his  paradise  was  at  last  attained. 

A  few  days  before  the  deferred  date  fixed  for 
their  wedding,  Freeling  came  into  the  doctor's 
drawing-room,  where  Hetty  and  Arthur  were 
sitting  together,  and  threw  a  letter  with  a  French 
official  stamp  upon  its  face  down  upon  the  table. 
**  There,"  he  said,  "  I  find  all  the  members  of  the 
Academic  des  Sciences  at  Paris  are  madmen 
also  !" 


DR.    GREATREX'S   ENGAGEMENT.  149 

Hetty  smiled  faintly,  and  said  with  a  little 
earnestness  in  her  tone,  "  Ah,  Dr.  Freeling,  that 
subject  has  been  far  too  serious  a  one  for  both 
of  us  to  make  it  pleasant  jesting." 

"  Oh,  but  look  here.  Miss  Abury,"  said  Free- 
ling  ;  "  I  have  to  apologize  to  Arthur  for  a  great 
liberty  I  have  ventured  to  take,  and  I  think  it 
best  to  begin  by  explaining  to  you  wherein  it 
consisted.  The  fact  is,  before  you  were  ill, 
Arthur  had  just  written  a  paper  on  the  interre- 
lations of  energy,  which  he  showed  to  that  pom- 
pous old  nincompoop,  Professor  Linklight.  Well, 
Linklight  being  one  of  those  men  who  can  never 
see  an  inch  beyond  his  own  nose,  had  the  incom- 
prehensible stupidity  to  tell  him  there  was  noth- 
ing in  it.  Thereupon  your  future  husband,  who 
is  a  modest  and  self-depreciating  sort  of  fellow, 
was  minded  to  throw  it  incontinently  into  the 
waste-paper  basket.  But  a  friend  of  his,  Harry 
Freeling,  who  flatters  himself  that  he  can  see  an 
inch  or  two  beyond  his  own  nose,  read  it  over, 
and  recognized  that  it  was  a  brilliant  discovery. 
So  what  does  he  go  and  do — here  comes  in  the 
apologetic  matter — but  get  this  memoir  quietly 
translated  into  French,  affix  a  motto  to  it,  put  it 
in  an  envelope,  and  send  it  for  the  gold  medal 
competition  of  the  Academic.  Strange  to  say, 
the  members  of  the  Academic  turned  out  to  be 
every  bit  as  mad  as  the  author  and  his  friend  ; 


150     DR.  GREATREX'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

for  I  have  just  received  this  letter,  addressed  to 
Arthur  at  my  house  (which  I  have  taken  the  fur- 
ther liberty  of  opening),  and  it  informs  me  that 
the  Academic  decrees  its  gold  medal  for  physical 
discovery  to  M.  Arthur  Greatrex,  of  London, 
which  is  a  subject  of  congratulation  for  us  three, 
and  a  regular  slap  in  the  face  for  pompous  old 
Linklight." 

Hetty  seized  Freeling's  two  hands  in  hers. 
"  You  have  been  our  good  genius,  Dr.  Freeling," 
she  said  with  brimming  eyes.  *'  I  owe  Arthur 
to  you  ;  and  Arthur  owes  me  to  you  ;  and  now 
we  both  owe  you  this.  What  can  we  ever  do  to 
thank  you  sufficiently  ?" 

Since  those  days  Hetty  and  Arthur  have  long 
been  married,  and  Dr.  Greatrex's  famous  work 
(in  its  enlarged  form)  has  been  translated  into 
all  the  civilized  languages  of  the  world,  as  well 
as  into  German  ;  but  to  this  moment,  happy  as 
they  both  are,  you  can  read  in  their  faces  the 
lasting  marks  of  that  one  terrible  anxiety.  To 
many  of  their  friends  it  seemed  afterwards  a 
mere  laughing  matter  ;  but  to  those  two,  who 
went  through  it,  and  especially  to  Arthur  Great- 
rex, it  is  a  memory  too  painful  to  be  looked  back 
upon  even  now  without  a  thrill  of  terrible  recol- 
lection. 


THE  BACKSLIDER. 


There  was  much  stir  and  commotion  on  the 
night  of  Thursday,  January  14,  1874,  in  the 
Gideonite  Apostolic  Church,  No.  47  Walworth 
Lane,  Peckham,  S.  E.  Anybody  could  see 
at  a  glance  that  some  important  business  was 
under  consideration  ;  for  the  Apostle  was  there 
himself,  in  his  chair  of  presidency,  and  the  twelve 
Episcops  were  there,  and  the  forty-eight  Pres- 
byters, and  a  large  and  earnest  gathering  of  the 
Gideonite  laity.  It  was  only  a  small,  bare  school- 
room, fitted  with  wooden  benches,  was  that 
headquarters  station  of  the  young  Church  ;  but 
you  could  not  look  around  it  once  without  seeing 
that  its  occupants  were  of  the  sort  by  whom 
great  religious  revolutions  may  be  made  or 
marred.  For  the  Gideonites  were  one  of  those 
strange,  enthusiastic,  hole-and-corner  sects  that 
spring  up  naturally  in  the  outlying  suburbs  of 
great   thinking  centres.     They    gather  around 


152  THE    BACKSLIDER. 

the  marked  personality  of  some  one  ardent,  vig- 
orous, half-educated  visionary  ;  and  they  consist 
for  the  most  part  of  intelligent,  half-reasoning 
people,  who  are  bold  enough  to  cast  overboard 
the  dogmatic  beliefs  of  their  fathers,  but  not  so 
bold  as  to  exercise  their  logical  faculty  upon  the 
fundamental  basis  on  which  the  dogmas  origin- 
ally rested.  The  Gideonites  had  thus  collected 
around  the  fixed  centre  of  their  Apostle,  a 
retired  attorney,  Murgess  by  name,  whose  teach- 
ing commended  itself  to  their  groping  reason  as 
the  pure  outcome  of  faithful  Biblical  research  ; 
and  they  had  chosen  their  name  because,  though 
they  were  but  three  hundred  in  number,  they 
had  full  confidence  that  when  the  time  came 
they  would  blow  their  trumpets,  and  all  the  host 
of  Midian  would  be  scattered  before  them.  In 
fact,  they  divided  the  world  generally  into  Gide- 
onite  and  Midianite,  for  they  knew  that  he  that 
was  not  with  them  was  against  them.  And  no 
wonder,  for  the  people  of  Peckham  did  not  love 
the  struggling  Church.  Its  chief  doctrine  was 
one  of  absolute  celibacy,  like  the  Shakers  of 
America  ;  and  to  this  doctrine  the  Church  had 
testified  in  the  Old  Kent  Road  and  elsewhere 
after  a  vigorous  practical  fashion  that  roused  the 
spirit  of  Southeastern  London  into  the  fiercest 
opposition.  The  young  men  and  maidens,  said 
the  Apostle,  must  no  longer  marry  or  be  given 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  153 

in  marriage  ;  the  wives  and  husbands  must 
dwell  asunder  ;  and  the  earth  must  be  made  as 
an  image  of  heaven.  These  were  heterodox 
opinions,  indeed,  which  Southeastern  London 
could  only  receive  with  a  strenuous  counterblast 
of  orthodox  brickbats  and  sound  Anglican  road 
metal. 

The  fleece  of  wool  was  duly  laid  upon  the 
floor  ;  the  trumpet  and  the  lamp  were  placed 
upon  the  bare  wooden  reading  desk  ;  and  the 
Apostle,  ri'sing  slowly  from  his  seat,  began  to 
address  the  assembled  Gideonites. 

*'  Friends,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  clear,  impressive 
voice,  with  a  musical  ring  tempering  its  slow 
distinctness,  "  we  have  met  together  to-night  to 
take  counsel  with  one  another  upon  a  high  mat- 
ter. It  is  plain  to  all  of  us  that  the  work  of  the 
Church  in  the  world  does  not  prosper  as  it  might 
prosper  were  the  charge  of  it  in  worthier  hands. 
We  have  to  contend  against  great  difficulties. 
We  are  not  among  the  rich  or  the  mighty  of  the 
earth  ;  and  the  poor  whom  we  have  always  with 
us  do  not  listen  to  us.  It  is  expedient,  therefore, 
that  we  should  set  some  one  among  us  aside  to 
f  be  instructed  thoroughly  in  those  things  that  are 
most  commonly  taught  among  the  Midianites  at 
Oxford  or  Cambridge.  To  some  of  you  it  may 
seem,  as  it  seemed  at  first  to  me,  that  such  a 
course  woiild  involve  going  back  upon  the  very 


154  THO    BACKSLIDER. 

principles  of  our  constitution.  We  are  not  to 
overcome  Midian  by  our  own  hand,  nor  by  the 
strength  of  two  and  thirty  thousand,  but  by  the 
trumpet,  and  the  pitcher,  and  the  cake  of  barley 
bread.  Yet,  when  I  searched  and  inquired  after 
this  matter,  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  might  also 
err  by  overmuch  confidence  on  the  other  side. 
For  Moses,  who  led  the  people  out  of  Egypt,  was 
made  ready  for  the  task  by  being  learned  in  all 
the  learning  of  the  Eg3qDtians.  Daniel,  who  tes- 
tified in  the  captivity,  was  cunning  in  knowledge, 
and  understanding  science,  and  instructed  in  the 
wisdom  and  tongue  of  the  Chaldeans.  Paul,  who 
was  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  had  not  only  sat 
at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel,  but  was  also  able  from 
their  own  poets  and  philosophers  to  confute  the 
sophisms  and  subtleties  of  the  Grecians  them- 
selves. These  things  show  us  that  we  should 
not  too  lightly  despise  even  worldly  learning 
and  worldly  science.  Perhaps  we  have  gone 
wrong  in  thinking  too  little  of  such  dross,  and 
being  puffed  up  with  spiritual  pride.  The  world 
might  listen  to  us  more  readily  if  we  had  one 
who  could  speak  the  word  for  us  in  the  tongues 
understanded  of  the  world."  « 

As  he  paused,  a  hum  of  acquiescence  went 
round  the  room. 

"  It   has   seemed   to   me,    then,"  the   Apostle 
went  on,"  that   we  ought  to  choose  some  one 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  155 

among  our  younger  brethren,  upon  whose  shoul- 
ders the  cares  and  duties  of  the  Apostolate 
might  hereafter  fall.  We  are  a  poor  people,  but 
by  subscription  among  ourselves  we  might  raise 
a  sufficient  sum  to  send  the  chosen  person  first 
to  a  good  school  here  in  London,  and  afterwards 
to  the  University  of  Oxford.  It  may  seem  a 
doubtful  and  a  hazardous  thing  thus  to  stake  our 
future  upon  any  one  young  man  ;  but  then  we 
must  remember  that  the  choice  will  not  be 
wholly  or  even  mainly  ours  ;  we  will  be  guided 
and  directed  as  we  ever  are  in  the  laying  on  of 
hands.  To  me,  considering  this  matter  thus,  it 
has  seemed  that  there  is  one  youth  in  our  body 
who  is  specially  pointed  out  for  this  work.  Only 
one  child  has  ever  been  born  into  the  Church  ; 
he,  as  you  know,  is  the  son  of  brother  John 
Owen  and  sister  Margaret  Owen,  who  were 
received  into  the  fold  just  six  days  before  his 
birth.  Paul  Owen's  very  name  seems  to  many 
of  us,  who  take  nothing  for  chance  but  all  things 
for  divinely  ordered,  to  mark  him  out  at  once  as 
a  foreordained  Apostle.  Is  it  your  wish,  then, 
Presbyter  John  Owen,  to  dedicate  your  only  son 
to  this  ministry  ?" 

Presbyter  John  Owen  rose  from  the  row  of 
seats  assigned  to  the  forty-eight,  and  moved 
hesitatingly  towards  the  platform.  He  was  an 
intelligent-looking,  honest-faced,  sunburnt  work- 


156  THK    BACKSLIDER. 

ing  man,  a  mason  by  trade,  who  had  come  into 
the  Church  from  the  Baptist  society  ;  and  he  was 
awkwardly  dressed  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  with 
the  scrupulous,  clumsy  neatness  of  a  respectable 
artisan  who  expects  to  take  part  in  an  import- 
ant ceremony.  He  spoke  nervously  and  with 
hesitation,  but  with  all  the  transparent  earnest- 
ness of  a  simple,  enthusiastic  nature. 

"Apostle  and  friends,"  he  said,  "it  ain't  very 
easy  for  me  to  disentangle  my  feelin's  on  this 
subjec'  from  one  another.  I  hope  I  ain't  moved 
by  any  worldly  feelin*,  an'  yet  I  hardly  know 
how  to  keep  such  considerations  out,  for  there's 
no  denyin'  that  it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to 
me  and  to  his  mother  to  see  our  Faul  becomin' 
a  teacher  in  Israel,  and  receivin'  an  education 
such  as  you.  Apostle,  has  pinted  out.  But  we 
hope,  too,  we  ain't  insensible  to  the  good  of  the 
Church  and  the  advantage  that  it  might  derive 
from  our  Paul's  support  and  preachin'.  We 
can't  help  seein'  ourselves  that  the  lad  has  got 
abilities ;  and  we've  tried  to  train  him  up  from 
his  youth  upward,  like  Timothy,  for  the  further- 
ance of  the  right  doctrine.  If  the  Church  thinks 
he's  fit  for  the  work  laid  upon  him,  his  mother 
and  me'll  be  glad  to  dedicate  him  to  the  ser- 
vice. 

He  sat  down  awkwardly,  and  the  Church 
again  hummed  its  approbation  in  a  suppressed 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  157 

murmur.     The  Apostle  rose   once    more,  and 
briefly  called  on  Paul  Owen  to  stand  forward. 

In  answer  to  the  call,  a  tall,  handsome,  earn- 
est-eyed boy  advanced  timidly  to  the  platform. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  those  enthusiastic  Gid- 
eonite  visionaries  should  have  seen  in  his  face 
the  visible  stamp  of  the  Apostleship.  Paul 
Owen  had  a  rich  crop  of  dark-brown  giossy  and 
curly  hair,  cut  something  after  the  Florentine 
Cinque-cento  fashion — not  because  his  parents 
wished  him  to  look  artistic,  but  because  that 
was  the  way  in  which  they  had  seen  the  hair 
dressed  in  all  the  sacred  pictures  that  they 
knew  ;  and  Margaret  Owen,  the  daughter  of 
some  Wesleyau  Spltalfields  weaver  folk,  with 
the  imaginative  Huguenot  blood  still  strong  in 
her  veins,  had  made  up  her  mind  ever  since 
she  became  Convinced  of  the  Truth  (as  their 
phrase  ran)  that  her  Paul  was  called  from  his 
cradle  to  a  great  work.  His  features  were  deli- 
cately chiselled,  and  showed  rather  natural 
culture,  like  his  mother's,  than  rough  honesty, 
like  John  Owen's,  or  strong  individuality,  like 
the  masterful  Apostle's.  His  eyes  were  pecu- 
liarly deep  and  luminous,  with  a  far-away  look 
which  might  have  reminded  an  artist  of  thet>- 
central  boyish  figure  in  Holman  Hunt's  rpictUci^. 
of  the  Doctors  in  the  Temple.  And  yet  Pauf 
Owen  had  a  healthy  color  in  his  cheek  and  m 


158  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

general  vSturdiness  of  limb  and  muscle  which 
showed  that  he  was  none  of  your  nervous,  blood- 
less, sickly  idealists,  but  a  wholesome,  English 
peasant  boy  of  native  refinement  and  delicate 
sensibilities.  He  moved  forward  with  some 
natural  hesitation  before  the  eyes  of  so  many 
people — ay,  and  what  was  more  terrible,  of  the 
entire  Church  upon  earth  ;  but  he  was  not  awk- 
ward and  constrained  in  his  action  like  his 
father.  One  could  see  that  he  was  sustained 
in  the  prominent  part  he  took  that  morning  by 
the  consciousness  of  a  duty  he  had  to  perform 
and  a  mission  laid  upon  him  which  he  must  not 
reject. 

"  Are  yotc  willing,  my  son  Paul,"  asked  the 
Apostle,  gravely,  *'  to  take  upon  yourself  the 
task  that  the  Church  proposes  ?" 

"  I  am  willing,"  answered  the  boy  in  a  low 
voice,  "  grace  preventing  me." 

"  Does  all  the  Church  unanimously  approve 
the  election  of  our  brother  Paul  to  this  office  ?*' 
the  Apostle  asked  formally  ;  for  it  was  a  rule 
with  the  Gideonities  that  nothing  should  be 
done  except  by  the  unanimous  and  spontaneous 
action  of  the  whole  body,  acting  under  direct 
and  immediate  inspiration  ;  and  all  important 
matters  were  accordingly  arranged  beforehand 
by  the  Apostle  in  private  interviews  with  every 
member  of    the   Church    individually,   so  that 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  159 

everything  that  took  place  in  public  assembly 
had  the  appearance  of  being  wholly  unques- 
tioned. They  took  counsel  first  with  one  another, 
and  consulted  the  Scripture  together  ;  and  when 
all  private  doubts  were  satisfied,  they  met  as  a 
Church  to  ratify  in  solemn  conclave  their  separ- 
ate conclusions.  It  was  not  often  that  the 
Apostle  did  not  have  his  own  way.  Not  only 
had  he  the  most  marked  personality  and  the 
strongest  will,  but  he  alone  also  had  Greek  and 
Hebrew  enough  to  appeal  always  to  the  original 
Word  ;  and  that  mysterious  amount  of  learning, 
slight  as  it  really  was,  sufficed  almost  invariably 
to  settle  the  scruples  of  his  wholly  ignorant 
and  pliant  disciples.  Reverence  for  the  literal 
Scripture  in  its  primitive  language  was  the 
corner-stone  of  the  Gideonite  Church  ;  and  for 
all  practical  purposes,  its  one  depository  and 
exponent  for  them  was  the  Apostle  himself. 
Even  the  Rev.  Albert  Barnes's  Commentary 
was  held  to  possess  an  inferior  authority. 

*'  The  Church  approves,"  was  the  unanimous 
answer. 

**Then,  Episcops,  Presbyters,  and  brethren," 
said  the  Apostle,  taking  up  a  roll  of  names,  **  I 
have  to  ask  that  you  will  each  mark  down  on 
this  paper  opposite  your  own  names  how  much 
a  year  5''ou  can  spare  of  your  substance  for  six 
years  to  come  as  a  guarantee  fund  for  this  great 


IGO  THE   UACKSLIDER. 

work.  You  must  remember  that  the  ministry 
of  this  Church  has  cost  you  nothing  ;  freely  I 
have  received  and  freely  given  ;  do  you  now 
bear  your  part  in  equipping  a  new  aspirant  for 
the  succession  to  the  Apostolate." 

The  two  senior  Episcops  took  two  rolls  from 
his  hand,  and  went  round  the  benches  \yith  a 
stylographic  pen  (so  strangely  do  the  ages 
mingle — Apostles  and  stylographs)  silently  ask- 
ing each  to  put  down  his  voluntary  subscription. 
Meanwhile  the  Apostle  read  slowly  and  rever- 
ently a  few  appropriate  sentences  of  Scripture. 
Some  of  the  richer  members — well-to-do  small 
tradesmen  of  Peckham — put  down  a  pound  or 
even  two  pounds  apiece  ;  the  poorer  brethren 
wrote  themselves  down  for  ten  shillings  or  even 
five.  In  the  end  the  guarantee  list  amounted  to 
;^i95  a  year.  The  Apostle  reckoned  it  up  rapidly 
to  himself,  and  then  announced  the  result  to  the 
assembly,  with  a  gentle  smile  relaxing  his 
austere  countenance.  He  was  well  pleased,  for 
the  sum  was  quite  sufficient  to  keep. Paul  Owen 
two  years  at  school  in  London  and  then  send 
him  comfortably  if  not  splendidly  to  Oxford. 
The  boy  had  already  had  a  fair  education  in 
Latin  and  some  Greek, at  the  Birkbeck  Schools; 
and  with  two  years'  further  study  he  might  even 
^ain  a  scholarship  (for  he  was  a  bright  lad), 
ajbich„wpuld  materially  lessen  the   expense  to 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  161 

the  young  Church.  Unlike  many  prophets  and 
enthusiasts,  the  Apostle  was  a  good  man  of 
business ;  and  he  had  taken  pains  to  learn  all 
about  these  favorable  chances  before  embarking 
his  people  on  so  very  doubtful  a  speculation. 

The  Assembly  was  just  about  to  close,  when 
one  of  the  Presbyters  rose  unexpectedly  to  put 
a  question  which,  contrary  to  the  usual  practice, 
had  not  already  been  submitted  for  approbation 
to  the  Apostle.  He  was  a  hard-headed,  thick-set, 
vulgar-looking  man,  a  greengrocer  at  Denmark 
Hill,  and  the  Apostle  always  looked  upon  him  as 
a  thorn  in  his  side,  promoted  by  inscrutable  wis- 
dom to  the  Presbytery  for  the  special  purpose  of 
keeping  down  the  Apostle's  spiritual  pride. 

"  One  more  pint,  Apostle,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"afore  we  close.  It  seems  to  me  that  even  in 
the  Church's  work  we'd  ought  to  be  business- 
like. Now,  it  ain't  bushiess-like  to  let  this  young 
man,  Brother  Paul,  get  his  eddication  out  of  us, 
if  I  may  so  speak  afore  the  Church,  on  spec. 
It's  all  very  well  our  sayin*  he's  to  be  eddicated 
and  take  on  the  Apostleship,  but  how  do  we 
know  but  what  when  he's  had  his  eddication  he 
may  fall  away  and  become  a  backslider,  like 
Demas,  and  like  others  among  ourselves  that  we 
could  mention  ?  He  may  go  to  Oxford  among 
a  lot  of  Midianites,  and  them  of  the  great  an* 
mighty  of  the  earth  too,  and  how  do  we  know 


162  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

but  what  he  may  round  upon  the  Church,  and 
go  back  upon  us  after  we've  paid  for  his  eddica- 
tion  ?  So  what  I  want  to  ask  is  just  this,  can't 
we  bind  him  down  in  a  bond  that  if  he  don't 
take  the  Apostleship  with  the  consent  of  the 
Church  when  it  falls  vacant  he'll  pay  us  back 
our  money,  so  as  we  can  eddicate  up  another 
as'U  be  more  worthy  ?" 

The  Apostle  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair  ; 
but  before  he  could  speak,  Paul  Owen's  indig- 
nation found  voice,  and  he  said  out  his  say 
boldly  before  the  whole  assembly,  blushing  crim- 
son with  mingled  shame  and  excitement  as  he 
did  so.  "  If  Brother  Grimshaw  and  all  the 
brethren  think  so  ill  of  me  that  they  cannot 
trust  my  honesty  and  honor,"  he  said,  *'  they 
need  not  be  at  the  pains  of  educating  me.  I  will 
sign  no  bond  and  entfer  into  no  compact.  But  if 
you  suppose  that  I  will  be  a  backslider,  you  do 
not  know  me,  and  I  will  confer  no  more  wil:h  you 
upon  the  subject." 

"  My  son  Paul  is  right,"  the  Apostle  said 
flushing  up  in  turn  at  the  boy's  audacity  ;  •*  we 
will  not  make  the  affairs  of  the  Spirit  a  matter 
for  bonds  and  earthly  arrangements.  If  the 
Church  thinks  as  1  do,  you  will  all  ri§e  up." 

All  rose  except  Presbyter  Grimshaw.  For  a 
moment  there  was  some  hesitation,  for  the  rule 
of  the  Church  in  favor  of  unanimity  was  abso- 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  1(53 

lute  ;  but  the  Apostle  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on 
Job  Grimshaw,  and  after  a  minute  or  so  Job 
Grimshaw  too  rose  slowly,  like'one  compelled  by 
an  unseen  power,  and  cast  in  his  vote  grudg- 
ingly with  the  rest.  There  was  nothing  more 
said  about  signing  an  agreement. 


164  THE   BA.CKSLIDEK. 


ir. 

Meenie  Bolton  had  counted  a  great  deal  upon 
her  visit  to  Oxford,  and  she  found  it  quite  as  de- 
lightful as  she  had  anticipated.  Her  brother 
knew  such  a  nice  set  of  men,  especially  Mr. 
Owen,  of  Christchurch.  Meenie  had  never  been 
so  near  falling  in  love  with  anybody  in  her  life 
as  she  was  with  Paul  Owen.  He  was  so  hand- 
some and  so  clever,  and  then  there  was  some- 
thing so  romantic  about  this  strange  Church  they 
said  he  belonged  to.  Meenie's  father  was  a 
country  parson,  and  the  way  in  which  Paul 
shrank  from  talking  about  the  Rector,  as  if  his 
office  were  something  wicked  or  uncanny,  piqued 
and  amused  her.  There  was  an  heretical  tinge 
about  him  which  made  him  doubly  interesting 
to  the  Rector's  daughter.  The  afternoon  water 
party  that  eventful  Thursday,  down  to  Nune- 
ham,  she  looked  forward  to  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest. For  her  aunt,  the  Professor's  wife,  who 
was  to  take  charge  of  them,  was  certainly  the 
most  delightful  and  most  sensible  of  chaperons. 

"  Is  it  really  true,  Mr.  Owen,"  she  said,  as  they 
sat  together  for  ten  minutes  alone  after  their 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  165 

picnic  luncheon,  by  the  side  of  the  weir  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Nuneham  beeches — "  is  it 
really  true  that  this  Church  of  yours  doesn't  al- 
low people  to  marry  ?" 

Paul  colored  up  to  his  eyes  as  he  answered, 

*'  Well,  Miss  Bolton,  I  don't  know  that  you 
should  identify  me  too  absolutely  with  my 
Church.  I  was  very  young"  when  they  selected 
me  to  go  to  Oxford,  and  my  opinions  have  de- 
cidedly wavered  a  good  deal  lately.  But  the 
Church  certainly  does  forbid  marriage.  I  have 
always  been  brought  up  to  look  upon  it  as 
sinful." 

Meenie  laughed  aloud  ;  and  Paul,  to  whom 
the  question  was  no  laughing  matter,  but  a 
serious  point  of  conscientious  scruple,  could 
hardly  help  laughing  with  her,  so  infectious  was 
that  pleasant  ripple.  He  checked  himself  with 
an  effort,  and  tried  to  look  serious. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  when  I  first  came 
to  Christchurch,  I  doubted  even  whether  I  ought 
to  make  your  brother's  acquaintance,  because  he 
was  a  clergyman's  son.  I  was  taught  to  describe 
clergymen  always  as  priests  of  Midian." 

He  never  talked  about  his  Church  to  anybody 
at  Oxford,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  relief  to  him  to 
speak  on  the  subject  to  Meenie,  in  spite  of  her 
laughing  eyes  and  undisguised  amusement. 
The  other  men  would  have  laughed  at  him  too, 


166  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

but  their  laughter  would  have  been  less  sympa- 
thetic. 

"  And  do  you  think  them  priests  of  Midian 
still  ?"  asked  Meenie. 

"  Miss  Bolton,"  said  Paul  suddenly,  as  one  who 
relieves  his  overburdened  mind  by  a  great  effort, 
"  I  am  almost  moved  to  make  a  confidante  of 
you." 

"  There  is  nothing  I  love  better  than  confi- 
dences," Meenie  answered ;  and  she  might 
truthfully  have  added,  "  particularly  from  you." 

**  Well,  I  have  been  passing  lately  through  a 
great  many  doubts  and  difficulties.  I  was 
brought  up  by  my  Church  to  become  its  next 
Apostle,  and  I  have  been  educated  at  their  ex- 
pense both  in  London  and  here.  You  know," 
Paul  added,  with  his  innate  love  of  telling  out  the 
whole  truth,  ''  I  am  not  a  gentleman  ;  I  am  the 
son  of  poor  working  people  in  London." 

"  Tom  told  me  who  your  parents  were," 
Meenie  answered  simply  ;  "  but  he  told  me,  too, 
you  were  none  the  less  a  true  gentleman  born 
for  that  ;  and  I  see  myself  he  told  me  right." 

Paul  flushed  again — he  had  a  most  unmanly 
trick  of  flushing  up — and  bowed  a  little  timid 
bow. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Well,  while 
I  was  in  London  I  lived  entirely  among  my  own 
people,  and  never  heard  anything  talked  about 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  167 

except  our  own  doctrines.  I  thought  our  Apostle 
the  most  learned,  the  wisest  and  the  greatest  of 
men.  I  had  not  a  doubt  about  the  absolute 
infallibility  of  our  own  opinions.  But  ever  since 
I  came  to  Oxford  I  have  slowly  begun  to  hesi- 
tate and  to  falter.  When  I  came  up  first,  the 
men  laughed  at  me  a  good  deal  in  a  good- 
humored  way,  because  I  wouldn't  do  as  they 
did.  Then  I  thought  myself  persecuted  for  the 
truth's  sake,  and  was  glad.  But  the  men  were 
really  very  kind  and  forbearing  to  me  ;  they 
never  argued  with  me  or  bullied  me  ;  they  re- 
spected my  scruples,  and  said  nothing  more 
about  it  as  soon  as  they  found  out  what  they 
really  were.  That  was  my  first  stumbling- 
block.  If  they  had  fought  me  and  debated  with 
me,  I  might  have  stuck  to  my  own  opinions  by 
force  of  opposition.  But  they  turned  me  in 
upon  myself  completely  by  their  silence,  and 
mastered  me  by  their  kindly  forbearance.  Point 
by  point  I  began  to  give  in,  till  now  I  hardly 
know  where  I  am  standing." 

"  You  wouldn't  join  the  cricket  club  at  first, 
Tom  says." 

"  No,  I  wouldn't.  I  thought  it  wrong  to  walk 
in  the  ways  of  Midian.  But  gradually  I  began 
to  argue  myself  out  of  my  scruples,  and  now  I 
positively  pull  six  in  the  boat,  and  wear  a  Christ- 
church  ribbon  on  my  hat.     I  have  given  up  pro- 


168  THE    BACKSLIDER. 

testing  against  having  my  letters  addressed  to 
me  as  Esquire  (though  I  have  really  no  right  to 
the  title),  and  I  nearly  went  the  other  day  to 
have  some  cards  engraved  with  my  name  as 
*Mr.  Paul  Owen.'  I  am  afraid  I'm  backsliding 
terribly." 

Meenie  laughed   again.     *'  If  that  is  all   you" 
have  to  burden  your  conscience  with,"  she  said, 
**  I  don't  think  you  need  spend  many  sleepless 
nights." 

**  Quite  so,"  Paul  answered,  smiling  ;  "  I  think 
so  myself.  But  that  is  not  all.  I  have  begun  to 
have  serious  doubts  about  the  Apostle  himself 
and  the  whole  Church  altogether.  I  have  been 
three  years  at  Oxford  now  ;  and  while  1  was 
reading  for  Mods,  I  don't  think  I  was  so  unset- 
tled in  my  mind.  But  since  I  have  begun  read- 
ing philosophy  for  my  Greats,  I  have  had  to  go 
into  all  sorts  of  deep  books — Mill,  and  Spencer, 
and  Bain,  and  all  kinds  of  fellows  who  really 
think  about  things,  you  know,  down  to  the  very 
bottom — and  an  awful  truth  begins  to  dawn 
upon  me,  that  our  Apostle  is  after  all  only  a 
very  third-rate  type  of  a  thinker.  Now  that, 
you  know,  is  really  terrible." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  Meenie  answered  de- 
murely. She  was  beginning  to  get  genuinely 
interested. 

"  That  is  because  you  have  never  had  to  call 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  169 

in  question  a  cherished  and  almost  ingrown 
faith.  You  have  never  realized  any  similar  cir- 
cumstances. Here  am  I,  brought  up  by  these 
good,  honest,  earnest  people,  with  their  own 
hard-earned  money,  as  a  pillar  of  their  belief. 
I  have  been  taught  to  look  upon  myself  as  the 
chosen  advocate  of  their  creed,  and  on  the 
Apostle  as  an  almost  divinely  inspired  man. 
My  whole  life  has  been  bound  up  in  it  ;  I  have 
worked  and  read  night  and  day  in  order  to  pass 
high  and  do  honor  to  the  Church  ;  and  now 
what  do  I  begin  to  find  the  Church  really  is  ? 
A  petty  group  of  poor,  devoted,  enthusiastic, 
ignorant  people,  led  blindly  by  a  decently  in- 
structed but  narrow-minded  teacher,  who  has 
mixed  up  his  own  headstrong  self-conceit  and 
self-importance  with  his  own  peculiar  ideas  of 
abstract  religion."  Paul  paused,  half  surprised 
at  himself,  for,  though  he  had  doubted  before, 
he  had  never  ventured  till  that  day  to  formulate 
his  doubts,  even  to  himself,  in  such  plain  and 
straightforward  language. 

**  I  see,"  said  Meenie,  gravely  ;  *'  you  have 
come  into  a  wider  world  ;  you  have  mixed  with 
wider  ideas ;  and  the  wider  world  has  con- 
verted you,  instead  of  your  converting  the  world- 
Well,  that  is  only  natural.  Others  beside  you 
have  had  to  change  their  opinions." 


170  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  for  me  it  is  harder — oh  !  so 
much  harder." 

"  Because  you  have  looked  forward  to  beings 
an  Apostle  ?" 

**  Miss  Bolton,  you  do  me  injustice — not  in 
what  you  say,  but  in  the  tone  you  say  it  in.  No, 
it  is  not  the  giving  up  of  the  Apostleship  that 
troubles  me,  though  I  did  hope  that  I  might 
help  in  my  way  to  make  the  world  a  new  earth  ; 
but  it  is  the  shock  and  downfall  of  their  hopes 
to  all  those  good,  earnest  people,  and  especially 
— oh  !  especially.  Miss  Bolton,  to  my  own  dear 
father  and  mother."  His  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  spoke. 

**  I  can  understand,"  said  Meenie,  sympathetic- 
ally, her  eyes  dimming  a  little  in  response. 
"  They  have  set  their  hearts  all  their  lives  long 
on  your  accomplishing  this  work,  and  it  will  be 
to  them  the  disappointment  of  a  cherished 
romance." 

They  looked  at  one  another  a  few  minutes  in 
silence. 

**  How  long  have  you  begun  to  have  your 
doubts  ?"     Meenie  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  A  long  time,  but  most  of  all  since  I  saw  you. 
It  has  made  me — it  has  made  me  hesitate  more 
about  the  fundamental  article  of  our  faith. 
Even  now,  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  not  wrong 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  171 

of  me  to  be  talking  so  with  you  about  such  mat- 
ters." 

*'  I  see,"  said   Meenie,  a  little  more  archly, 

"  it  comes  perilously  near "  and  she  broke 

off,  for  she  felt  she  had  gone  a  step  too  far. 

**  Perilously  near  falling  in  love,"  Paul  con- 
tinued boldly,  turning  his  big  eyes  full  upon 
her.     "Yes,  perilously  near." 

Their  eyes  met ;  Meenie's  fell,  and  they  said 
no  more.  But  they  both  felt  they  understood 
one  another.  Just  at  that  moment  the  Profes- 
sor's wife  came  up  to  interrupt  the  tete-h-tete ; 
"for  that  young  Owen,"  she  said  to  herself,  "is 
really  getting  quite  too  confidential  with  dear 
Meenie." 

That  same  evening  Paul  paced  up  and  down 
his  rooms  in  Peckwater  with  all  his  soul 
strangely  upheaved  within  him,  and  tossed  and 
racked  by  a  dozen  conflicting  doubts  and  pas- 
sions. Had  he  gone  too  far  ?  Had  he  yielded 
like  Adam  to  the  woman  who  beguiled  him  ? 
Had  he  given  way  like  Samson  to  the  snares  of 
Delilah  ?  For  the  old  Scripture  phraseology 
and  imagery,  so  long  burned  into  his  very  na- 
ture, clung  to  him  still  in  spite  of  all  his  falter- 
ing changes  of  opinion.  Had  he  said  more  than 
he  thought  and  felt  about  the  Apostle  ?  Even 
if  he  was  going  to  revise  his  views,  was  it  right, 
was  it  candid,  was  it  loyal  to  the  truth  that  he 


172  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

should  revise  them  under  the  biassing  influence 
of  Meenie's  eyes  ?  If  only  he  could  have  separ- 
ated the  two  questions — the  Apostle's  mission, 
and  the  something  which  he  felt  growing  up 
within  him  !  But  he  could  not — and,  as  he  sus- 
pected, for  a  most  excellent  reason,  because  the 
two  were  intimately  bound  up  in  the  very  warp 
and  woof  of  his  existence.  Nature  was  asserting 
herself  against  the  religious  asceticism  of  the 
Apostle  ;  it  could  not  be  so  wrong  for  him  to 
feel  those  feelings  that  had  thrilled  every  heart 
in  all  his  ancestors  for  innumerable  genera- 
tions. 

He  was  in  love  with  Meenie ;  he  knew  that 
clearly  now.  And  this  love  was  after  all  not 
such  a  wicked  and  terrible  feeling  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  felt  all  the  better  and  the  purer  for  it 
already.  But  then  that  might  merely  be  the 
horrible  seductiveness  of  the  thing.  Was  it  not 
always  typified  by  the  cup  of  Circe,  by  the  song 
of  the  Sirens,  by  all  that  was  alluring  and  beau- 
tiful and  hollow  ?  He  paced  up  and  down  for 
half  an  hour,  and  then  (he  had  sported  his  oak 
long  ago)  he  lit  his  little  reading  lamp  and  sat 
down  in  the  big  chair  by  the  bay  window.  Run- 
ning his  eyes  over  his  bookshelf,  he  took  out, 
half  by  chance,  Spencer's  **  Sociology."  Then 
from  sheer  weariness  he  read  on  for  awhile, 
hardly  heeding  what  he  read.    At  last  he  got 


THE    BAClCaLIDER.  173 

interested,  and  finished  a  chapter.  When  he 
had  finished  it,  he  put  the  book  down  and  felt 
that  the  struggle  was  over.  Strange  that  side 
by  side  in  the  same  world,  in  the  same  London, 
there  should  exist  two  such  utterly  different 
types  of  man  as  Herbert  Spencer  and  the  Gid- 
eonite  Apostle.  The  last  seemed  to  belong  to 
the  sixteenth  century,  the  first  to  some  new  and 
hitherto  uncreated  social  world.  In  an  age 
which  produced  thinkers  like  that,  how  could 
he  ever  have  mistaken  the  poor,  bigoted,  narrow, 
half-instructed  Apostle  for  a  divinely  inspired 
teacher  ?  So  far  as  Paul  Owen  was  concerned, 
the  Gideonite  Church  and  all  that  belonged  to 
it  had  melted  utterly  into  thin  air. 

Three  days  later,  after  the  Eights  in  the  early 
evening,  Paul  found  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
again  alone  with  Meenie.  He  had  taken  their 
party  on  to  the  Christchurch  barge  to  see  the 
race,  and  he  was  strolling  with  them  afterwards 
round  the  meadow  walk  by  the  bank  of  the 
Cherwell.  Paul  managed  to  get  a  little  in  front 
with  Meenie,  and  entered  at  once  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  his  late  embarrassments. 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  over  since,  Miss  Bol- 
ton," he  said — he  half  hesitated  whether  he 
should  say  "Meenie"  or  not,  and  she  was  half 
disappointed  that  he  didn't,  for  they  were  both 
very  young,  and  very  young  people  fall  in  love 


174  THE    BACKSLIDER. 

SO  unaffectedly — "  I  have  thought  it  all  over, 
and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is 
no  help  for  it  ;  I  must  break  openly  with  the 
Church." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Meenie,  simply.  **  That  I 
understood." 

He  smiled  at  her  ingenuousness.  vSuch  a  very 
forward  young  person  ?  And  yet  he  liked  it. 
•*  Well,  the  next  thing  is,  what  to  do  about  it. 
You  see,  I  have  really  been  obtaining  my  educa- 
tion, so  to  speak,  under  false  pretences.  I  can't 
continue  taking  these  good  people's  money  after 
I  have  ceased  to  believe  in  their  doctrines.  I 
ought  to  have  faced  the  question  sooner.  It  was 
wrong  of  me  to  wait  until — until  it  was  forced 
upon  me  by  other  considerations." 

This  time  it  was  Meenie  who  blushed.  "  But 
you  don't  mean  to  leave  Oxford  without  taking 
your  degree  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

*'  No,  I  think  it  will  be  better  not.  To  stop 
here  and  try  for  a  fellowship  is  my  best  chance 
of  repaying  these  poor  people  the  money  which 
I  have  taken  from  them  for  no  purpose." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Meenie. 
"  You  are  bound  in  honor  to  pay  them  back,  of 
course." 

Paul  liked  the  instantaneous  honesty  of  that 
"of  course."  It  marked  the  naturally  honorable 
character  ;  for  "  of  cour.se,"  too,  they  must  wait 


THE  BACKSLIDER.  175 

to  marry  (young  people  jump  so)  till  all  that 
money  was  paid  off.  '*  Fortunately,"  he  said,  "  I 
have  lived  economically,  and  have  not  spent 
nearly  as  much  as  they  guaranteed.  I  got 
scholarships  up  to  a  hundred  a  year  of  my  own, 
and  I  only  took  a  hundred  a  year  of  theirs. 
They  offered  me  two  hundred.  But  there's  five 
years  at  a  hundred,  that  makes  five  hundred 
pounds — a  big  debt  to  begin  life  with." 

**  Never  mind,"  said  Meenie.  *'  You  will  get  a 
fellowship,  and  in  a  few  years  you  can  pay 
it  off." 

'*  Yes,"  said  Paul,  *'  I  can  pay  it  off.  But  I  can 
never  pay  off  the  hopes  and  aspirations  I  have 
blighted.  I  must  become  a  schoolmaster,  or  a 
barrister,  or  something  of  that  sort,  and  never 
repay  them  for  their  self-sacrifice  and  devotion 
in  making  me  whatever  I  shall  become.  They 
may  get  back  their  money,  but  they  will  have 
lost  their  cherished  Apostle  forever." 

"  Mr.  Owen,"  Meenie  answered  solemnly,  "  the 
seal  of  the  Apostolate  lies  far  deeper  than  that. 
It  was  born  in  you,  and  no  act  of  yours  can  shake 
it  off." 

**  Meenie,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  gently,  with 
a  changed  expression — "  Meenie,  we  shall  have 
to  wait  many  year  a." 

"  Never  mind,  Paul,"  she  replied,  as  naturally 
as  if  he  had  been  Paul  to  her  all  her  life  long 


176  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

"  I  can  wait  if  you  can.  Rut  what  will  you  do 
for  the  immediate  present  ?'' 

"  I  have  my  scholarship,"  he  said  ;  *'  I  can  get 
on  partly  upon  that  ;  and  then  I  can  take  pupils  ; 
and  I  have  only  one  year  more  of  it." 

So  before  they  parted  that  night  it  was  all 
well  understood  between  them  that  Paul  was  to 
declare  his  defection  from  the  Church  at  the 
earliest  opportunity  ;  that  he  was  to  live  as  best 
he  might  till  he  could  take  his  degree  ;  that  he 
was  then  to  pay  off  all  the  back  debt  ;  and  that 
after  all  these  things  he  and  Meenie  might  get 
comfortably  married  whenever  they  v/ere  able. 
As  to  the  Rector  and  his  wife,  or  any  other  pa- 
rental authorities,  they  both  left  them  out  in  the 
cold  as  wholly  as  young  people  always  do  leave 
their  elders  out  on  all  similar  occasions. 

"  Maria's  a  born  fool !"  said  the  Rector  to  his 
wife  a  week  after  Meenie's  return  ;  "  I  always 
knew  she  was  a  fool,  but  I  never  knew  she  was 
quite  such  a  fool  as  to  permit  a  thing  like  this. 
So  far  as  I  can  get  it  out  of  Edie,  and  so  far  as 
Edie  can  get  it  out  of  Meenie,  I  understand  that 
she  has  allowed  Meenie  to  go  and  get  herself 
engaged  to  some  Dissenter  fellow,  a  Shaker,  era 
Mormon,  or  a  Communist,  or  something  of  the 
sort,  who  is  the  son  of  a  common  laborer,  and 
has  been  sent  up  to  Oxford,  Tom  tells  me,  by  his 
own  sect,  to  be  made  into  a  gentleman,  so  as  to 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  177 

give  some  sort  or  color  of  respectability  to  their 
absurd  doctrines.  I  shall  send  the  girl  to  town 
at  once  to  Emily's,  and  she  shall  stop  there  all 
next  season,  to  see  if  she  can't  manage  to  get 
engaged  to  some  young  man  in  decent  society  at 
any  rate." 


178  THE   BACKSLIDER. 


III. 


When  Paul  Owen  returned  to  Peckham  for 
the  long  vacation,  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart 
that  he  ventured  back  slowly  to  his  father's 
cottage.  Margaret  Owen  had  put  everything 
straight  and  neat  in  the  little  living  room,  as  she 
always  did,  to  welcome  home  her  son  who  had 
grown  into  a  gentleman  ;  and  honest  John  stood 
at  the  threshold  beaming  with  pleasure  to  wring 
Paul's  hand  in  his  firm  grip,  just  back  unwashed 
from  his  day's  labor.  After  the  first  kissings 
and  greetings  were  over,  John  Owen  said  rather 
solemnly,  ''  I  have  bad  news  for  you,  Paul.  The 
Apostle  is  sick,  even  unto  death." 

When  Paul  heard  that,  he  was  sorely  tempted 
to  put  off  the  disclosure  for  the  present ;  but  he 
felt  he  must  not.  So  that  same  night,  as  they 
sat  together  in  the  dusk  near  the  window  where 
the  geraniums  stood,  he  began  to  unburden  his 
whole  mind,  gently  and  tentatively,  so  as  to 
spare  their  feelings  as  much  as  possible,  to  his 
father  and  mother.  He  told  them  how,  since  he 
went  to  Oxford,  he  had  learned  to  think  some- 
what differently  about  many  things  ;  how  his 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  170 

ideas  had  gradually  deepened  and  broadened  ; 
how  he  had  begun  to  inquire  into  fundamentals 
for  himself ;  how  he  had  feared  that  the  Gide- 
onites  took  too  much  for  granted,  and  reposed 
too  implicitly  on  the  supposed  critical  learning  of 
their  Apostle.  As  he  spoke  his  mother  listened 
in  tearful  silence ;  but  his  father  murmured 
from  time  to  time,  *'  I  was  afeard  of  this 
already,  Paul  ;  I  seen  it  coming,  now  and  again, 
long  ago."  There  was  pity  and  regret  in  his 
tone,  but  not  a  shade  of  reproachfulness. 

At  last,  however,  Paul  came  to  speak,  timidly 
and  reservedly,  of  Meenie.  Then  his  father's 
eye  began  to  flash  a  little,  and  his  breath  came 
deeper  and  harder.  When  Paul  told  him  briefly 
that  he  was  engaged  to  her,  the  strong  man 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  rose  up  in  right- 
eous wrath,  and  thrust  his  son  at  arm's  length 
from  him.  "  What  !"  he  cried  fiercely,  **  yen 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  fallen  into  sin 
and  looked  upon  the  daughters  of  Midian  !  It 
was  no  Scriptural  doubts  that  druv  you  on, 
then,  but  the  desire  of  the  flesh  and  the  lust  of 
the  eyes  that  has  lost  you  !  You  dare  to  stand 
up  there,  Paul,  Owen,  and  tell  me  that  you  throw 
over  the  Church  and  the  Apostle  for  the  sake  of 
a  gill,  like  a  poor,  niserable  Samson  !  You  are 
no  son  of  mine,  and  I  have  nothin'  more  to  say 
to  you." 


180  THE   BACKSLIDER. 

But  Margaret  Owen  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  said  softly,  "  John,  let  us  hear  him 
out."  And  John,  recalled  by  that  gentle  touch, 
listened  once  more.  Then  Paul  pleaded  his 
case  powerfully  again.  He  quoted  Scripture  to 
them  ;  he  argued  with  them,  after  their  own 
fashion,  and  down  to  their  own  comprehension, 
text  by  text  ;  he  pitted  his  own  critical  and 
exegetical  faculty  against  the  Apostle's.  Last 
of  all,  he  turned  to  his  mother,  who,  tearful 
still  and  heartbroken  with  disappointment,  yet 
looked  admiringly  upon  her  learned,  eloquent 
boy,  and  said  to  her  tenderly,  "  Remember, 
mother,  you  yourself  were  once  in  love.  You 
yourself  once  stood,  night  after  night,  leaning 
on  the  gate,  waiting  with  your  heart  beating  for 
a  footstep  that  you  knew  so  well.  You  yourself 
once  counted  the  days  and  the  hours  and  the 
minutes  till  the  next  meeting  came."  And 
Margaret  Owen,  touched  to  the  heart  by  that 
simple  appeal,  kissed  him  fevently  a  dozen 
times  over,  the  hot  tears  dropping  on  his  cheek 
meanwhile  ;  and  then,  contrary  to  all  the  rules 
of  their  austere  Church,  she  flung  her  arms 
round  her  husband  too,  and  kissed  him  passion- 
ately the  first  time  for  twenty  years,  with  all  the 
fervor  of  a  floodgate  loosed.  Paul  Owen  s 
apostolate  had  surely  borne  its  first  fruit. 

The  father  stood  for  a  moment  in  doubt  and 


THE   BACKSLIDER.  181 

terror,  like  one  stunned  or  dazed,  and  then,  in  a 
moment  of  sudden  remembrance,  stepped  for- 
ward and  returned  the  kiss.  The  spell  was 
broken,  and  the  Apostle's  power  was  no  more. 
What  else  passed  in  the  cottage  that  night,  when 
John  Owen  fell  upon  his  kness  and  wrestled  in 
spirit,  was  too  wholly  internal  to  the  man's  own 
soul  for  telling  here.  Next  day  John  and  Mar- 
garet Owen  felt  the  dream  of  their  lives  was 
gone  ;  but  the  mother  in  her  heart  rejoiced  to 
think  her  boy  might  know  the  depths  of  love, 
and  might  bring  home  a  real  lady  for  his  wife. 
On  Sunday  it  was  rumored  that  the  Apos- 
tle's ailment  was  very  serious  ;  but  young 
Brother  Paul  Owen  would  address  the  Churcn. 
He  did  so,  though  not  exactly  in  the  way  the 
Church  expected.  He  told  them  simply  and 
plainly  how  he  had  changed  his  views  about  cer- 
tain matters  ;  how  he  thanked  them  from  his 
heart  for  the  loan  of  their  money  (he  was  careful 
to  emphasize  the  word  loan)^  which  had  helped 
him  to  carry  on  his  education  at  Oxford  ;  and 
how  he  would  repay  them  the  principal  and  in- 
terest, though  he  could  never  repay  them  the 
kindness,  at  the  earliest  possible  opportunity. 
He  was  so  grave,  so  earnest,  so  transparently 
true,  that,  in  spite  of  the  downfall  of  their  dear- 
est hopes,  he  carried  the  whole  meeting  with 
him,  all  save  one  man.    That    man  was  Job 


182  THE    BACKSLIDER. 

Grimshaw.  Job  rose  from  his  place  with  a  look 
of  undisguised  triumph,  as  soon  as  Paul  had  fin- 
ished, and,  mounting  the  platform  quietly,  said 
his  say. 

"  I  knew,  Episcops,  Presbyters,  and  Brethren," 
he  began,  "  how  this  'ere  young  man  would  finish. 
I  saw  it  the  day  he  was  appinted.  He's  flush- 
ing up  now  the  same  as  he  flushed  up  then  when 
1  spoke  to  him  ;  and  it  ain't  sperritual,  it's 
worldly  pride  and  headstrongness,  that's  what  it 
is.  He's  had  our  money  and  he's  had  his  eddi- 
cation,  and  now  he's  going  to  round  on  us,  just 
as  I  said  he  would.  It's  all  very  well  talking 
about  paying  us  back  ;  how's  a  young  man  like 
him  to  get  five  hundred  pounds,  I  should  like  to 
know.  And  if  he  did  even,  what  sort  o'  repay- 
ment would  that  be  to  many  of  the  brethren, 
who've  saved  and  scraped  ,for  five  year  to  let 
him  live  like  a  gentleman  among  the  great  and 
the  mighty  o'  Midian  ?  He's  got  his  eddication 
out  of  us,  and  he  can  keep  that  whatever  hap- 
pens, and  make  a  living  out  of  it,  too  ;  and  now 
he's  going  back  on  us  same  as  I  said  he  would, 
and,  having  got  all  he  can  out  of  the  Church, 
he's  going  to  chuck  it  away  like  a  sucked  orange. 
I  detest  such  backsliding  and  such  ungrateful- 
ness." 

Paul's  cup  of  humiliation  was  full,  but  he  bit 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  183 

his  lip  till  the  blood  almost  came,  and  made  no 
answer. 

"  He  boasted  in  his  own  strength,"  Job  went 
on  mercilessly,  *'  that  he  wasn't  going  to  be  a 
backslider,  and  he  wasn't  going  to  sign  no  bond, 
and  he  wasn't  going  to  confer  with  us,  but  we 
must  trust  his  honor  and  honesty,  and  such 
like.  I've  got  his  very  words  written  down  in 
my  notebook  'ere  ;  for  I  made  a  note  of  'em  fore- 
seeing this.  If  we'd  'a'  bound  him  down,  as  I 
proposed,  he  wouldn't  'a'  dared  to  go  backsliding 
and  rounding  on  us,  and  making  up  to  the 
daughters  of  Midian,  as  I  don't  doubt  but  what 
he's  been  doing."  Paul's  tell-tale  face  showed 
him  at  once  that  he  had  struck  by  accident  on 
the  right  chord.  But  if  he  ever  goes  bringing  a 
daughter  of  Midian  here  to  Peckham,"  Job  con- 
tinued, *'  we'll  show  her  these  very  notes,  and  ask 
her  what  she  thinks  of  such  dishonorable  conduct. 
The  Apostle's  dying,  that's  clear  ;  and  before  he 
dies  I  warrant  he  shall  know  this  treachery." 

Paul  could  not  stand  that  last  threat.  Though 
he  had  lost  faith  in  the  Apostle  as  an  Apostle, 
he  could  never  forget  the  allegiance  he  had 
once  borne  him  as  a  father,  or  the  spell  which 
his  powerful  individuality  had  once  thrown 
around  him  as  a  teacher.  To  have  embittered 
that  man's  dying  bed  with  the  shadow  of  a  ter- 
rible disappointment  would  be  to  Paul  a  life- 


184  THE    BACKSLIDER. 

long  sr''  iect  of  deep  remorse.  "  I  did  not  intend 
to  open  .ny  mouth  in  answer  to  you,  Mr.  Grim- 
shaw,"  he  said  (for  the  first  time  breaking 
through  the  customary  address  of  Brother), 
*'  but  I  pray  you,  I  entreat  you,  I  beseech  you, 
not  to  harass  the  Apostle  in  his  last  moments 
with  such  a  subject." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  Job  Grimshaw  an- 
swered maliciously,  all  the  ingrained  coarseness 
of  the  man  breaking  out  in  the  wrinkles  of  his 
face.  "  No  wonder  you  don't  want  him  enlight- 
ened about  your  goings  on  with  the  daughters 
of  Midian,  when  you  must  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  his  life  ain't  worth  a  day's  purchase,  and 
that  he's  a  man  of  independent  means,  and  has 
left  you  every  penny  he's  got  in  his  will,  because 
he  believes  you're  a  fit  successor  to  the  Aposto- 
late.  I  know  it,  for  I  signed  as  a  witness,  and  I 
read  it  through,  being  a  short  one,  while  the 
other  witness  was  signing.  And  you  must  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do.  I  suppose  you  don't  think 
he'll  make  another  will  now  ;  but  there's  time 
enough  to  burn  that  one  anyhow." 

Paul  Owen  stood  aghast  at  the  vulgar  base- 
ness of  which  this  lewd  fellow  supposed  him 
capable.  He  had  never  thought  of  it  before  ; 
and  yet  it  flashed  across  his  mind  in  a  moment 
how  obvious  it  was  now.  Of  course  the  Apostle 
would  leave  him  his  money.     He  was  being 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  185 

educated  for  the  Apostolate,  and  the  Apostolate 
could  not  be  carried  on  without  the  sinews  of 
war.  But  that  Job  Grimshaw  should  think  him 
guilty  of  angling  for  the  Apostle's  money,  and 
then  throwing  the  Church  overboard — the  bare 
notion  of  it  was  so  horrible  to  him  that  he  could 
not  even  hold  up  his  head  to  answer  the  taunt. 
He  sat  down  and  buried  his  crimson  face  in  his 
hands  ;  and  Job  Grimshaw,  taking  up  his  hat 
sturdily.,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  to  per- 
form an  unpleasant  duty,  left  the  meeting- 
room  abruptly  without  another  word. 

There  was  a  gloomy  Sunday  dinner  that 
morning  in  the  mason's  cottage,  and  nobody 
seemed  much  inclined  to  speak  in  any  way. 
But  as  they  were  in  the  midst  of  their  solemn 
meal,  a  neighbor  who  was  also  a  Gideonite  came 
in  hurriedly.  It's  all  over,"  he  said,  breathless 
— "  all  over  with  us  and  with  the  Church.  The 
Apostle  is  dead.     He  died  this  morning." 

Margaret  Owen  found  voice  to  ask,  '*  Before 
Job  Grimshaw  saw  him  ?" 

The  neighbor  nodded,  *'  Yes." 

*'  Thank  heaven  for  that  ?"  cried  Paul.  ''  Then 
he  did  not  die  misunderstanding  me  !" 

*'  And  you'll  get  his  money,"  added  the  neigh- 
bor, "  for  I  was  the  other  witness." 

Paul  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  wish  Meenie 
W^as  here,"  he  said,   "  I  must  see  her  about  this," 


186  THE   BACKSLIDBB. 


IV. 


A  FEW  days  later  the  Apostle  was  buried,  and 
his  will  was  read  over  before  the  assembled 
Church.  By  earnest  persuasion  of  his  father, 
Paul  consented  to  be  present,  though  he  feared 
another  humiliation  from  Job  Grimshaw.  But 
two  days  before  he  had  taken  the  law  into  his 
own  hands,  by  writing  to  Meenie,  at  her  aunt's 
in  Eaton  Place  ;  and  that  very  indiscreet  young 
lady,  in  response,  had  actually  consented  to 
meet  him  in  Kensington  Gardens  alone  the  next 
afternoon.  There  he  sat  with  her  on  one  of  the 
benches  by  the  Serpentine,  and  talked  the  whole 
matter  over  with  her  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  If  the  money  is  really  left  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  I  must  in  honor  refuse  it.  It  was  left  to  me  to 
carry  on  the  Apostolate,  and  I  can't  take  it  on 
any  other  ground.  But  what  ought  I  to  do  with 
it  ?  I  can't  give  it  over  to  the  Church,  for  in 
three  days  there  will  be  no  Church  left  to  give 
'  it  to.     What  shall  I  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Meenie,  thoughtfully,  "  if  I  were 
you  I  should  do  this.  First,  pay  back  everybody 
who  contributed  towards  your  support  in  full, 


THE    BACKSLIDER.  187 

principal  and  interest  ;  then  borrow  from  the 
remainder  as  much  as  you  require  to  complete 
your  Oxford  course  ;  and  finally  pay  back  all 
that  and  the  other  money  to  the  fund  when  you 
are  able,  and  hand  it  over  for  the  purpose  of 
doing  some  good  work  in  Peckham  itself,  where 
your  Church  was  originally  founded.  If  the 
ideal  can't  be  fulfilled,  let  the  money  do  some- 
thing good  for  the  actual." 

*'  You  are  quite  right,  Meenie,"  said  Paul, 
"  except  in  one  particular.  I  will  not  borrow 
from  the  fund  for  my  own  support.  I  will  not 
touch  a  penny  of  it,  temporarily  or  permanently, 
for  myself  in  any  way.  If  it  comes  to  me,  I 
shall  make  it  over  to  trustees  at  once  for  some 
good  object,  as  you  suggest,  and  shall  borrow 
from  them  five  hundred  pounds  to  repay  my 
own  poor  people,  giving  the  trustees  my  bond  to 
repay  the  fund  hereafter.  I  shall  fight  my  own 
battle  henceforth  unaided." 

"  You  will  do  as  you  ought  to  do,  Paul,  and  I 
am  proud  of  it." 

So  next  morning,  when  the  meeting  took 
place,  Paul  felt  somewhat  happier  in  his  own 
mind  as  to  the  course  he  should  pursue  with 
reference  to  Job  Grimshaw. 

The  Senior  Episcop  opened  and  read  the  last 
will  and  testament  of  Arthur  Murgess,  attorney- 
at-law.    It  provided  in  a  few  words  that  all  his 


188  THE   BACK8LIDKR. 

estate,  real  and  personal,  should  pass  unreserv- 
edly to  his  friend,  Paul  Owen,  of  Christchurch, 
Oxford.  It  was  whispered  about  that,  besides 
the  house  and  grounds,  the  personality  might  be 
sworn  at  ^^8,000,  a  vast  sum  to  those  simple 
people. 

When  the  reading  was  finished,  Paul  rose  and 
addressed  the  assembly.  He  told  them  briefly 
the  plan  he  had  formed,  and  insisted  on  his  de- 
termination that  not  a  penny  of  the  money  should 
be  put  to  his  own  uses.  He  would  face  the 
world  for  himself,  and  thanks  to  their  kindness 
he  could  face  it  easily  enough.  He  would  still 
earn  and  pay  back  all  that  he  owed  them.  He 
would  use  the  fund,  first  for  the  good  of  those 
who  had  been  members  of  the  Church,  and 
afterwards  for  the  good  of  the  people  of  Peck- 
ham  generally.  And  he  thanked  them  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  for  the  kindness  they  had 
shown  him. 

Even  Job  Grimshaw  could  only  mutter  to 
himself  that  this  was  not  sperritual  grace  but 
mere  worldly  pride  and  stubbornness,  lest  the 
lad  should  betray  his  evil  designs,  which  had 
thus  availed  him  nothing. 

"  He  has  lost  his  own  soul  and  wrecked  the 
Church   for  the  sake  of  the  money,"  Job  said, 
"  and  now  he  dassn't  touch  a  farden  of  it." 
^    Next  John  Owen  rose  and  said  slowly, 


THtt   BACltSLTDER.  189 

*•  Friends,  it  seems  to  me  we  may  as  well  all 
confess  that  this  Church  has  gone  to  pieces.  I 
can't  stop  in  it  myself  any  longer,  for  I  see  it's 
clear  agin  nature,  and  what's  agin  nature  can't 
be  true." 

And  though  the  assembly  said  nothing,  it  was 
plain  that  there  were  many  waverers  in  the  little 
body  whom  the  affairs  of  the  last  week  had 
shaken  sadly  in  their  simple  faith.  Indeed,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  before  the  end  of  the  month  the 
Gideonite  Church  had  melted  away,  member  by 
member,  till  nobody  at  all  was  left  of  the  whole 
assembly  but  Job  Grimshaw. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  rector  to  his  wife  a  few 
weeks,  later,  laying  down  his  Illustrated^  "  this  is 
really  a  very  curious  thing.  That  young  fellow, 
Owen,  of  Christchurch,  that  Meenie  fancied  her- 
self engaged  to,  has  just  come  into  a  little  landed 
property  and  eight  or  nine  thousand  pounds  on 
his  own  account.  He  must  be  better  connected 
than  Tom  imagines.  Perhaps  we  might  make 
inquiries  about  him  after  all. 

The  Rector  did  make  inquiries  in  the  course 
of  the  week,  and  with  such  results  that  he  turned 
to  the  rectory  in  blank  amazement.  "  That  fel- 
low's mad,  Amelia,"  he  said,  "  stark  mad,  if  ever 
anybody  was.  The  leader  of  his  Little  Bethel, 
or  Ebenezer,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  has  left  him 
all  his  property  absolutely,  without  conditions  j 


190  THE   BA^OKSLIDER. 

and  the  idiot  of  a  bo)'  declares  he  won't  touch  a 
penny  of  it,  because  he's  ceased  to  believe  in 
their  particular  shibboleth,  and  he  thinks  the 
leader  wanted  him  to  succeed  him.  Very  right 
and  proper  of  him,  of  course,  to  leave  the  sect  if 
he  can't  reconcile  it  with  his  conscience,  but  per- 
fectly Quixotic  of  him  to  give  up  the  money  and 
beggar  himself  outright.  Even  if  his  connection 
was  otherwise  desirable  (which  it  is  far  from 
being),  it  would  be  absurd  to  think  of  letting 
Meenie  marry  such  a  ridiculous  hair-brained 
fellow." 

Paul  and  Meenie,  however,  went  their  own 
way,  as  young  people  often  will,  in  spite  of  the 
Rector.  Paul  returned  next  term  to  Oxford, 
penniless,  but  full  of  resolution,  and  by  dint  of 
taking  pupils  managed  to  eke  out  his  scholorship 
for  the  next  year.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
took  his  first  in  Greats,  and  shortly  after  gained 
a  fellowship.  From  the  very  first  day  he  began 
saving  money  to  pay  off  that  dead  weight  of  five 
hundred  pounds.  The  kindly  ex-Gideonites  had 
mostly  protested  against  his  repaying  them  at 
all,  but  in  vain  ;  Paul  would  not  make  his  entry 
into  life,  he  said,  under  false  pretences.  It  was 
a  hard  pull,  but  he  did  it.  He  took  pupils,  he 
lectured,  he  wrote  well  and  vigorously  for  the 
press,  he  worked  late  and  early  with  volcanic 
energy ;  and  by  the  end  of  three  years  he  had 


THE  BACKSLIDER.  191 

not  only  saved  the  whole  of  the  sum  advanced 
by  the  Gideonites,  but  had  also  begun  to  put 
away  a  little  nest-egg  against  his  marriage  with 
Meenie.  And  when  the  editor  of  a  great  morn- 
ing paper  in  London  offered  him  a  permanent 
place  upon  the  staff,  at  a  large  salary,  he  actually 
went  down  to  Worcestershire,  saw  the  formid- 
able Rector  himself  in  his  own  parish,  and 
demanded  Meenie  outright  in  marriage.  And 
the  Rector  observed  to  his  wife  that  this  young 
Owen  seemed  a  well-behaved  and  amiable  young 
man  ;  that  after  all.  one  needn't  know  anything 
about  his  relations  if  one  didn't  like  ;  and  that 
as  Meenie  had  quite  made  up  her  mind,  and  was 
as  headstrong  as  a  mule,  there  was  no  use  try- 
ing to  oppose  her  any  longer. 

Down  in  Peckham,  where  Paul  Owen  lives, 
and  is  loved  by  half  the  poor  of  the  district,  no 
one  has  forgotten  who  was  the  real  founder  of 
the  Murgess  Institute,  which  does  so  much  good 
in  encouraging  thrift,  and  is  so  admirably  man- 
aged by  the  founder  and  his  wife.  He  would 
take  a  house  nowhere  but  at  Peckham,  he  said. 
To  the  Peckham  people  he  owed  his  education, 
and  for  the  Peckham  people  he  would  watch  the 
working  of  his  little  Institute.  There  is  no  bet- 
ter work  being  done  anywhere  in  that  great 
squalid  desert,  the  east  and  southeast  of  Lon- 
don ;  there  is  no  influence  more  magnetic  than 


192f  THE   BACKSLIDEK. 

the  founder  s.  John  and  Margaret  Owen  have 
recovered  their  hopes  for  their  boy,  only  they 
run  now  in  another  and  more  feasible  direction  ; 
and  those  who  witness  the  good  that  is  being 
done  by  the  Institute  among  the  poor  of  Peck- 
ham,  or  who  have  read  that  remarkable  and 
brilliant  economical  work  lately  published  on 
"  The  Future  of  Co-operation  in  the  East  End, 
by  P.  O.,"  venture  to  believe  that  Meenie  was 
right  after  all,  and  that  even  the  great  social 
world  itself  has  not  yet  heard  the  last  of  young 
Paul  Owen's  lay  apostolate. 


THE    END. 


